Where We Learn
by Dreamsong83
Summary: A continuation on my fic, Lions & Lambs of sorts. We shall discover what exactly happens to Elizabeth during her time at Comstock House. Mostly dealing with Elizabeth's perspective & emotions as she endures six months of torture waiting for Booker to come rescue her. I was inspired by actual game play and the Prequel novel. M-graphic sex, violence, and language.
1. Prologue

(**Warning: **This story will describe physical and psychological torture. Also, in this world Booker & Elizabeth have a sexual relationship. If all this makes you uncomfortable, then move along. The rest of you enjoy the beginning of what will hopefully be a thrilling ride. Comments, follows, and favorites always appreciated:) **)**

"ELIZABETH!"

Clutched tightly in the mechanical bird's giant hand the sound of Booker's voice ripped her apart inside. Elizabeth turned her head to look back, but her hair and tears streaming in the wind obscured her vision. Now, she couldn't hear anything but the strong whooshing beat of Songbird's wings gliding through the chilly air. Elizabeth rested her forehead against Songbird's fist, hiding her face from the world as she sobbed into the familiar scent of oil and aged leather.

I'm going back….she realized with disbelief and horror as she wept. But, she had saved Booker's life. That was the only thing that mattered. He would come for her. You stay alive, no matter what it takes, she thought fiercely, willing it with every fiber of her being. Stay alive and come find me…._please._

Songbird landed in front of the marble steps of Comstock House with a loud thud. The small crowd of people that had gathered there anticipating his arrival scattered like a warren of rabbits, flushed from their burrow by the ominous bark of a hunting hound. The bird's wings of rough canvas and intricate metal gears folded against his back. Elizabeth opened her eyes, and was startled by the group of unfamiliar faces staring at her. She frowned, her thin eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she gazed up at Songbird. "I…I don't understand, what am I doing here?" The only answer Elizabeth received from the bird was a cryptic chirp and whistle, as if to say he was just as confused about the whole situation as she was. The crowd of faces came closer as Songbird gently lowered her to the ground.

Elizabeth heard a woman in the group mumble. "Praise the Lord; she's here just as the Prophet said she'd be."

The young woman felt her feet touch the ground.

"Indeed, the Prophet is good," said another as Songbird opened his fist, freeing Elizabeth of his grasp.

"The Prophet is wise," a man added in as he approached her.

They were all dressed in clean white coats, and walking towards her with fake smiles, and empty eyes. Alarmed, Elizabeth started backing up away from them. She quickly looked over her shoulder at Songbird, brown hair whipping around her face. He tilted his head side to side curiously, but made no aggressive move towards the strange people that were beginning to surround her. His eye ports still glowed with baleful green light indicating that there was nothing to be alarmed about, but the hairs on the back of Elizabeth's neck stood on end. Adrenaline coursed its way through her body, her instincts screaming at her to run…

Elizabeth kept backing up, until she bumped into the chest of a man standing behind her. She cringed, and tried to pull away from the strong hands that descended on her narrow shoulders. "Let go!" she cried throwing her weight forward. But, there were more hands on her now. As each hand pressed against her back, fingers curling around her arms, Elizabeth jerked and shuddered as if she had been burned.

"Get your hands off me!" Elizabeth shouted.

She contorted her lithe figure back and forth, trying to squirm away from their hated touch. The group of nurses and orderlies completely ignored her protests. The more Elizabeth struggled, the tighter they held on to her, half dragging her up the steps.

The enormous doors were beginning to open.

_Comstock House Re-Education Center_ was the words that loomed over Elizabeth's head as she was brought through the foyer. The candles at her feet were glowing seductively, flickering in and out with the draft. They cast suggestive shadows on the walls, and the smooth wooden door that was before her.

Panic spread through her body like a cancer. "Let me go!"

An orderly wheeled in a chair, and Elizabeth was shoved down into it while another man took off her jacket. Her blue eyes widened when she felt cold metal close around her wrists with an ominous snap. A man knelt at her feet pulling off her boots before locking her ankles securely in place. Elizabeth's boots and jacket were then placed across her lap. They began to wheel her away…

Elizabeth took in a shaky breath, as metal touched her chest.

"Specimen's heart rate, 120 beats per minute."

Rough fabric chaffed the skin around her bicep, growing tighter and tighter around the muscle.

"Blood pressure is normal at 120 over 80."

Elizabeth looked back and forth from one stranger to another in confusion. Their voices were so…_dead._ They were discussing her like she wasn't even there. Elizabeth felt completely disoriented; she could barely believe what was happening right before her eyes.

"Just take me back to my tower. Please…please!" she begged.

Elizabeth felt warm breath against her ear. "Shh… hush child. You are safe now," one nurse whispered soothingly.

She twisted her head to the side trying to see who had just spoken to her, but there were too many people talking all at once for her to pin point the woman. Elizabeth took small comfort in the knowledge that there was at least one person present that would speak to her like a human being.

Elizabeth unconsciously gripped the arm rests of the wheel chair as she took in her surroundings. Plush red carpet, green potted plants, candles, and plentiful images of Father Comstock scattered about like religious icons.

"What is this place? What are you planning to do to me?" she asked persistently.

The chair rocked as the men and women in white unceremoniously wheeled the young woman up a ramp. They were pushing her towards an elevator were another man in a white coat stood vigil, waiting for their arrival. Anxiety was blossoming in Elizabeth's chest like a wild flower the longer she lingered in Comstock House. It wasn't the unfamiliar sites of the place that had planted the seed of fear within her breast. It was the sounds and the smells. The place reeked of harsh cleaning chemicals and fear, and Elizabeth swore she could hear the steady buzz of electricity.

"Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen, I can take it from here," said the man by the elevator door nonchalantly. Elizabeth looked up at him. He was around average height with dirty blond hair and gray eyes. She held him with her hypnotic blue stare, searching for some sign of compassion and finding nothing.

The group of people that had herded her to this point had dispersed, now only a nurse and two orderlies remained at Elizabeth's side. The woman passed a clipboard over to the blond man. He briefly glanced at it as Elizabeth was wheeled inside the elevator.

"Please…Please, what is this place? Just…Just send me back to my tower," the girl pleaded.

"It's too late for that now, child." The man replied with a raised eyebrow, pushing a large button. The elevator groaned as it began its descent.

"Your father gave you a lovely home, and you chose to destroy it…"he continued.

Like a summer storm, her temper flared. "He's NOT my father!" Elizabeth vehemently denied.

The doctor sighed at the girl with annoyance. This was going to be…difficult.

It was the nurse that pushed her out of the elevator. The woman wheeled the girl down the long hallway dutifully following Dr. Pettifog. The nurse was grateful that she faced Elizabeth's back. The child is not going to like what comes next, she thought grimacing.

Once they had reached the end of the long hallway, Elizabeth heard the sound of a key turning into a lock. Great, my new cage, she thought darkly. But, when they opened the door Elizabeth saw that the room wasn't a cell at all. It was a huge store room full of boxes with names on them. As she was being wheeled behind a corner Elizabeth peered down, catching a glimpse at the contents of a box on the floor. A pair of scuffed boots lay on top of a thread bare shirt and pants that had holes in them patched with different colored fabrics. They were someone's belongings…Elizabeth felt her heart sink. Fresh tears sprung from her eyes, and she watched them fall on to the plush dark blue fabric of her jacket like spring rain.

The nurse swung the chair around, and reached over her to retrieve Elizabeth's boots and jacket. The woman placed them neatly inside a nearby box, before turning back to her ward. She bent down to unlock the metal restraints around the girl's ankles and wrists. "You're going to want to stand up now," she told Elizabeth softly. The specimen hesitantly lifted her chin, deep blue eyes meeting soft brown ones.

"Please…please, please don't…"

The words barely made it passed her lips, but the older woman heard the girl clear as a bell.

"I'm sorry, but it isn't up to me," the nurse resolutely whispered back.

There was a click, click noise of well shined shoes on the hard wood floor when Elizabeth rose from the chair. The nurse cast the girl a quick and furtive glance, before moving aside. The older woman's plump figure slowly moved away from Elizabeth's line of sight like a theatrical curtain. Standing no more than a few paces away from her was Father Comstock, the Prophet himself.

He was a tall man, neatly dressed in a black and gray suit which contrasted with his snow white hair and long beard. His eyes were blue, and cold. Elizabeth shuddered when she felt the nurse's practiced fingers tug on the laces of her corset.

"Hello, my child," Father Comstock greeted her. His voice was as smooth and swift as a river.

Over the past few days Elizabeth had thought of countless things that she wanted to say to the Prophet, mostly angry things. But, now that he stood there before her Elizabeth found herself speechless.

The blue satin ribbons made a barely audible sound as they come undone, but to Elizabeth's ears it was like listening to nails scrapping against a chalk board.

"Don't look so worried child, you're going to be ok," Comstock said opening his arms in a grand gesture. That was when Elizabeth saw the white dressing gown hanging off his right arm. He gave her a fatherly smile. "_I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you took care of Me; I was in prison and you visited Me._'"

Elizabeth made a mental note; _Matthew, chapter twenty -five, verse- thirty six. _

"The Lord provides for all his children. We only need to be willing to reach out for our own salvation," he continued.

He looked so…sure of himself, and that burned her. Perk of the prophesy business, har, har, Elizabeth thought privately with acid sarcasm. If only the "Prophet" could hear how ridiculous he sounded. God, she could have laughed just then. She was starting to think like Booker.

When the nurse reached for the clasps at the front of her corset, Elizabeth lightly slapped the old woman's hands away. The nurse frowned, opening her mouth in protest. "I can do this myself," the girl said. With a tear streaked face Elizabeth stared straight ahead at Comstock as she silently undressed.

She refused to let herself to be broken. Elizabeth would not allow this man, this _abuser,_ to make her feel ashamed. She was through with being the victim. Elizabeth's blue eyes locked onto his, a dark mirror of her own. All her life Comstock had made her decisions for her by keeping her locked up in that tower for twenty years. If it was a test of wills he wanted, well then bring it on. She could teach him a thing or two about patience.

Her corset fell to the floor, a gentle but poignant sound. The nurse helped her step out of the dress and petticoat layers. Elizabeth found herself facing the Prophet wearing nothing but a pair of dark stockings, and satin panties. Elizabeth shivered with cold and barely contained rage. She gritted her teeth, hands balled into fists and even her toes were curling together.

Comstock was closing the distance between them. For a moment he had the dressing gown held out to her like a strange sort of peace offering, he was offering her an olive branch. But, something made him stop in his tracks. He blinked several times as he stared at his daughter's flesh. Elizabeth's fair skin was marred with bright pink splotches. It was painfully obvious what the marks were. Mouth shaped ovals danced across the girl's thighs and caressed her breasts, framing her sensitive areolas in crimson and purple.

The large room echoed with the distinctive slap of flesh striking flesh. Elizabeth gingerly turned her head; the right side of her face was still tingling from where Comstock struck her. A small sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

The Prophet's voice came out half-choked, "check her."

The nurse gazed back and forth from father to daughter, unsure of what she should do.

"Didn't you hear me woman?! I said, check her!" Comstock spat angrily.

She knelt down, looking up at Elizabeth with pleading brown eyes. The older woman tried to apologize to the girl with her facial expressions. Elizabeth gave her a slight nod, quickly feeling the nurse's fingers slip inside her panties. At least the woman was gentle. Slowly, the nurse withdrew two fingers from Elizabeth's sex.

Comstock gripped the old woman's wrist, inspecting the fingers on her hand. The nurse's middle and ring fingers were slightly pruned from being inside the girl. From finger nail to knuckle they were slick and wet, coated in fluids. The Prophet glared at the evidence of the union between the hated False Shepard with his Lamb.

The sound of his hand striking Elizabeth's other cheek resounded with a vicious crack. "Child…do you realized what you have done?!" Comstock half asked, half shouted at his daughter.

Glaring back at him, "I…am…NOT…a child!" she replied defiantly, anger punctuating each word.

With a frustrated sigh, the Prophet turned away from Elizabeth. He could barely look at her. "You disappoint me Elizabeth," was all he said as he handed over the hospital gown to the nurse.

The woman slipped the rough fabric over the slender girl's head. The gown was badly sized, and it drowned Elizabeth's petite frame, making it look like she was wearing a tent. The nurse gathered the strings that hung at the front of the gown, tying them off one by one in order pull the awkward garment closed.

Comstock took a step closer to Elizabeth, eyeing the brooch that rested in the hollow of her neck. In response she tried to take a step back, but the wheel chair behind her prevented Elizabeth from escaping. He reached out and tapped the brooch with his index finger once, twice. She could feel the object pressing into her throat. Elizabeth interpreted the gesture as both curious and malevolent.

Suddenly, Comstock turned on his heel and began to walk away from her. He was so arrogant. She didn't want them to take her choker away like everything else, but Elizabeth couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"So much for having a lamb without spot or blemish," she called out after him vindictively.

Comstock stopped in mid-stride at Elizabeth's words.

"Dr. Pettifog," he called in a commanding tone.

Scowling, her brilliant blue eyes bored holes into the Prophet's back. Comstock stood up straighter. It would take much more than verbal taunts to cause a man like him to become unglued, and Elizabeth hated him for it.

The snooty man with the dishwater hair and dead eyes appeared from around the corner.

"Yes, Prophet," he answered, quickly appearing by Comstock's side obedient as any lap dog.

"See to it that my daughter has a room with a window," Comstock ordered, pausing to look back at Elizabeth. His eyes glinted in the light like cold chips of ice.

"Yes sir," the doctor replied.

"I want to her to know how many days go by without DeWitt coming for her."


	2. Implantation

**(AN: We are now getting into the meat of the story. Enjoy & see you next time!)**

* * *

Elizabeth gulped a ragged breath of air as she ran. The balls of her feet were burning with every sharp strike her boots made against the pavement. She didn't dare look back.

"Just stay where you are!" was the shout that assaulted her ears, and made her blood race.

Booker was still right on her heels, but she couldn't hear the sound of his pursuit over the dull roar of the water fall in Battle Ship Bay.

"Get away from me!" she called back fiercely.

Panicking, Elizabeth veered left, nearly tripping over herself as she dashed inside the red gondola.

"Hey come back here!" Booker yelled after her, with a note of exasperation in his voice.

Elizabeth yanked on the brass lever with all her strength, but to her dismay it wouldn't budge.

No, no, no, no…..she thought in desperation. The sound of the waterfall was overwhelming, and Elizabeth couldn't tell where the blood pounding in her ears ended and the din of the water began. Trying once again, she attempted to put her entire weight on top of the stubborn lever.

A frustrated gasp spilled out of her mouth, when she spied a dusty boot, step into the gondola out of the corner of her eye. Elizabeth fluidly turned away from the lever, trying to put as much distance between herself and Booker as possible in the small space. She crossed her arms against her chest defensively, as she tried to catch her breath.

Elizabeth could hear the lever utter a satisfying squeak as Booker effortlessly pulled it.

There were crooning notes suddenly whispering inside her ears. Music…but she couldn't tell where it was coming from. Perhaps there was a stray phonograph somewhere. It was a song Elizabeth had never heard before, but for some reason she knew all the words by heart. Its soft melody resonated inside the girl like her own conscience.

_"Face to face…my lovely foe" _a woman's voice sang.

"You killed those people…I can't believe you did that." She said slowly, chills running down her spine.

"_Mouth to mouth…raining heaven's blows…"_

"They're all dead…" Elizabeth murmured in horror, as she stared at the waterfall paralyzed by her own thoughts, before turning to meet Booker's gaze with a sullen stare.

"_Hand on heart…tic tac toe…under the stars naked as we flow….cheek to cheek, the bitter sweet," _the words purred inside Elizabeth's ears.

"You killed those people!" She exclaimed, her small hands balling into angry fists.

_"Commit your crime in your deadly time…"_

The young woman's would-be rescuer returned her accusing glare with a carefully guarded look. "Elizabeth…" Booker breathed.

She didn't know if it was the indifferent way he looked at her, or the soft almost gentle way he said her name, but Elizabeth found herself growing more infuriated with Booker by the moment.

_"Commit your crime in your deadly time…"_

"You're a monster!" Elizabeth said indignantly, as her hands made contact with Booker's chest.

_"It's too divine. I want to bend. I want this bliss, but something says I must resist."_

Through the cotton of his vest Elizabeth briefly felt the strong muscles that lie beneath it as she abruptly shoved him backwards.

_"Another life, another time…we're Siamese twins writhing intertwined…" _Elizabeth felt her heart skip a beat.

Booker ran his tongue over the top of his front teeth as he took several steps back.

He cocked his head to the side, looking at the girl thoughtfully; unruly locks of hair falling in front of his eyes.

_"Face to face...no telling lies."_

Elizabeth was no longer looking at him directly; instead she gazed ahead, clutching her stomach with both hands fighting the urge to hyperventilate. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. The sound of Elizabeth's frantic breaths filled the small compartment of the gondola.

"What did you think was going to happen? Huh?" Booker whispered with equal measures of disbelief and patience.

"_The masks they slide to reveal a new disguise…"_

"What?" she asked quietly, taken off guard by his question.

"Do you understand the expense people went through to keep you locked up in that tower?" Booker continued.

His words may have been the bait that caught her attention, but when Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at him, it was the intensity of Booker's gaze that held her captive.

A pair of stunning mossy green eyes glimmered at Elizabeth. A bitter half smile was tugging at the corners of Booker's lips. He wore his indifference like armor, and she gulped nervously as he stared at her.

The haunting voice crooned, "_You can never win. It's the state I'm in." _

What had happened to this man to make him so….jaded? A life time of veracious reading had gifted Elizabeth with an extensive vocabulary, and it was one of the things she took pride in. So, she gained some small satisfaction in being able to peg Booker DeWitt into a single word. What Elizabeth couldn't understand was why she cared. She had just watched him kill a group of people in cold blood for goodness sakes, and yet here she was trying to psychoanalyze the man.

"You think people like that are just going to let you walk away?" Booker asked, peppering his question with light sarcasm.

Elizabeth's eyebrows were knitted together in confusion and sorrow, and when she didn't push him away Booker took a step closer to her.

"_This danger thrills and my conflict kills."_

"You are an investment," Booker said slowly, putting emphasis on his words.

"And you will not be safe until you are far away from here."

"_They say follow your heart…"_

He spoke with such conviction, and she could feel his words settle into her bones. Elizabeth fully turned around to face the man who would offer her freedom. She brushed away a stray tear with the back of her hand.

"_Follow it true, but how can you when you're split in two?"_

"What am I? What do they want from me?" Elizabeth asked half pleading. Her deep blue eyes searched for answers in Booker's face.

"_And you'll never know…"_

"I don't know." Booker replied softly, echoing the mysterious song inside her head.

Elizabeth's hands went to her chest, and she took slower breaths in order to calm herself down. I'm okay, she thought repeating the phrase like a mantra inside her head. Its optimism clashed with the brutally honest song she held inside her.

The music vocalized her deepest fears. "_You'll never know," _

"But, that's the last time anyone gets the drop on me." Booker assured her, gesturing slightly with his wounded hand.

Concerned, she gazed at the vicious stab wound that had penetrated straight through the muscles and tendons of Booker's hand. It looked extremely painful, and Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt. He endured that injury on her behalf.

"_One more kiss. Before we die…"_

''Let me see your hand.'' Elizabeth said gently, as she bent down ripping off a strip of fabric from the bottom of her skirt.

"_Face to face, and dream of flying."_

She very carefully wrapped the blue cloth around his injured hand as he held it out for her. Where would she be now, if Booker hadn't acted? Probably back in her tower, and she wanted her freedom more than anything. And yet…the idea of killing in order to obtain it made her sick inside. Elizabeth tried to reconcile the conflicting emotions that were raging inside her. Freedom was not free. She recalled that Thomas Jefferson once said that," The Tree of Liberty is watered with the blood of every generation."

"_Who are you? Who am I?"_

The thought nagged at Elizabeth like a splinter inside her mind. If she wanted her freedom she would have to pay the price for it. Unable to keep silent, she looked into Booker's eyes.

"_Wind in wings, two angels falling."_

"What happened back there…it's not the last of it is it?" she asked him with a sense of foreboding. Booker let out soft but still audible gasps of pain as Elizabeth tightened the impromptu bandage.

The song whispered persistently. "_To die like this, with a last kiss…" _

"I don't know," he replied very quietly.

"_It's a falsehood's flame…"_

It was in that moment where Elizabeth's sensitive and empathetic nature didn't serve her well. When she should have been listening to his words, she was lost in the gentle tone of his voice. If Elizabeth had been paying attention she would have realized that Booker had told her absolutely nothing, besides stating the obvious.

"_It's a crying shame."_

"There." Elizabeth spoke, lightly lifting Booker's bandaged hand to look over her work.

"_Face to face…the passions breathe…"_

Without uttering a word, Booker examined his hand nonchalantly for a moment. He then closed it into a fist, clenching his fingers against the palm of his hand to test its flexibility and strength. Still hurt like hell, but it would do. Elizabeth looked up at Booker hopefully. Warmth beginning spread through her abdomen at the possibility of being able to help him.

"_I hate to stay, but then I hate to leave…"_

Her mind was made up. She was going to leave this place, and go to Paris. Elizabeth would continue to help Booker DeWitt in any way she could in order to make that happen. In fact, Elizabeth was so pleased with herself she didn't even notice that he had never thanked her.

"_And you'll never know. You'll never know…"_

The final notes of the song trickled down into the dark room. They fell against her closed eyelids like icy droplets of water. Elizabeth tried to roll onto her side, but she couldn't move. Her sleep fogged brain was still inside the dream. So the hard leather buckles wrapped around her body went unnoticed for the moment.

Blue eyes slowly opened. The first thing Elizabeth saw was the familiar shape of a grainy black and white tear into space. Its jagged outline was tinted red, and she heard a few trailing music notes before the tear completely sealed shut.

What just happened? Elizabeth thought groggily. Bracing her hands on the mattress, she attempted to sit up. She couldn't even raise herself half an inch. Frowning, Elizabeth looked down waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was several heavy brown leather straps wrapped around her body, essentially chaining her to the bed.

_Oh_…Elizabeth thought despondently. She remembered where she was now.

She slowly turned her head to the right and then to the left, looking around at her austere surroundings. The dreary room was populated by a hideous green toilet with chipped enamel, a round sink with a dusty mirror over it, and a small window. It seemed that no matter how hard Elizabeth concentrated she couldn't remember how she got there. She could vaguely recall the nurse sitting her back down in that weird chair with the wrist and ankle restraints. Then feeling the prick of a needle break the skin in her arm; they must have drugged her with something.

Elizabeth's head hurt, and her mouth was dry. Dawn was approaching, and those first rays of light fell straight into her eyes. She winced, quickly turning her face away. Even though the young woman's temples were throbbing, once awake the pain didn't stop her from thinking. Elizabeth's mind was a mess of fragments from her drug induced sleep.

Yesterday she had awoken warm and comfortable with Booker's arm draped around her waist. Today she was stiff and aching, strapped to a hard scratchy mattress. Elizabeth wondered how many comparisons she would wind up making before the day was over. The thought of what could happen to her next made the girl weary beyond her years. But, she swatted away the doubt like a gnat hovering over an otherwise cheerful picnic. Booker was on his way to get her, she was sure of it. This is where Elizabeth's hope and sanity firmly rooted themselves. Perhaps with some luck she wouldn't have to endure being locked up in the place for very long.

The startling metal clang as a key turned inside a lock banished the fog that lingered in Elizabeth's mind. A lump was forming at the base of her throat as she watched the cell door swing open. Bright white light filtered into Elizabeth's room from the hallway. The girl squinted her eyes with a quiet grunt; making an effort to identify the black silhouette that appeared in the doorway.

Elizabeth recognized the woman from yesterday, as the nurse moved closer to her bedside. The older woman began to carefully undo the brass buckles of the leather straps that bound her. Elizabeth took advantage of the opportunity to lean forward. Quick as a striking snake her delicate hand grabbed the nurse's wrist.

"Please, can you tell me what's going on?" she asked in a rough whisper.

The older woman froze for a moment. She stared at the specimen's hand grip the loose, spotted flesh of her forearm.

"What…what are they going to do to me?" Elizabeth persisted.

The older woman looked away, pulling her arm free from the girl's grasp. She couldn't meet Elizabeth's sincere blue eyes, but she did murmur a reply.

"I don't know Miss, but you better keep such questions to yourself."

"Why? What's going to happen?" Elizabeth replied, her voice inadvertently growing louder with her confusion.

"Shhh!" The nurse hushed her, placing a hand across the young girl's mouth.

"I'm not even supposed to be talking to you. Please be quiet before you get the both of us in trouble." The older woman begged the girl, not moving her hand away until Elizabeth reluctantly nodded her agreement.

Relieved, the nurse continued about the business of quickly unlatching the buckles and straps around Elizabeth. When the older woman leaned down to help Elizabeth to her feet, she wasn't sure if she should be cooperating or not. She felt her body become stiff as the nurse awkwardly assisted her out of the bed.

"Can I at least use the privy, please?" Elizabeth asked, very quietly.

The nurse just nodded, and made some small gesture towards the ugly green toilet in the corner.

Sighing, Elizabeth shuffled over to the other side of the depressing room. She could feel the cold cement floor right through her stockings. Her anger returned to her on a slow simmer, as she wondered if having your privacy violated with full knowledge of it was worse than being oblivious to it.

Afterwards, she turned on the faucet in the dusty sink to wash her hands. Elizabeth frowned when she heard the nurse impatiently tap her foot against the floor in an effort to rush her. The water from the tap was surprisingly warm. Grateful, Elizabeth held her hands underneath it until she realized that she couldn't stall anymore. She turned off the faucet with dripping wet hands, and reluctantly allowed the nurse to push her down into the wheel chair that the older woman had brought for her. The restraints were predictably snapped into place. The nurse deftly maneuvered the chair around and out into the desolate hallway.

…

Her nerves were white hot, and singing with agony. Pain flooded through her like a storm, beginning at the sensitive nape of her neck and then branching out like fingers of lightning to surge through the rest of her body.

"Please! I don't understand! Ahh! Ahhhh!" Elizabeth screamed.

Dr. Pettifog cranked the metal wheel that was an integral part of the operating table that the specimen was currently strapped down to. He stopped once the platform was just above his head. His scrutinizing gaze peered at the large needle that protruded from the girl's back.

"Oh, that's much better!" Dr. Powell exclaimed over the sound of Elizabeth's ragged breaths.

"See! What did I tell you," Dr. Pettifog said with a smile. Only to realize a second later, that his colleague couldn't see his satisfied grin underneath the white surgical mask.

The two scientists moved with the coordination of synchronized swimmers. As Dr. Powell went about removing the needle, white gloved hands carefully unscrewing the top of the syringe, Dr. Pettifog plucked an intricate metal circle from his tray of operating tools. The specimen cried out with a loud gasp when the long needle slowly withdrew from her spine.

Feeling like a genius, Dr. Pettifog stood still; admiring the device for a moment. It wasn't a solid piece of metal, but it was made from a series of thin wires intricately looped and wrapped around each other. It was the size of a pea, and the doctor deftly held it with a pair of tweezers.

Dr. Pettifog held out his left hand expectantly, and Dr. Powell wordlessly placed another pair of tweezers into the empty hand. Pettifog looked through the wide diameter of the syringe's bloodied yellow glass tunnel. Once he saw the glint of bone from the girl's spinal column, he began to cautiously maneuver the metal circlet inside the incision.

A fresh wave of pain threatened to engulf Elizabeth when she felt sharp metal slowly pull back skin and muscle. There was the bitter taste of blood in the back of her throat.

"Please! Please, no, no! No! NOOO!" she cried out, hot tears springing from her eyes.

Dr. Pettifog lovingly nestled the device around the specimen's spine, knowing where to place it so it would rest against the girl's nerve endings. He slowly withdrew each pair of tweezers from the over- sized syringe, beckoning Dr. Powell back over.

"Nicely done," Powell mused with genuine admiration when he saw the device neatly embedded in the girl's flesh. He reattached the syringe's top. The long needle plunged through the open circle of the device tapping into bone marrow once again.

At this point Elizabeth's screams where completely unintelligible.

"Don't congratulate yourselves just yet gentlemen." The Prophet's voice cut through the air like a well-honed blade through flesh.

The two doctors took pause, gazing up at the glass room above the operating theater where Father Comstock could observe the operation.

"You still have to test the device." Comstock reminded the scientists coolly.

"Of course…but perhaps you would like to take a break before we run the tests." Dr. Pettifog suggested.

"When the Lord spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai through a burning bush, bestowing upon him the gift of the Ten Commandments he didn't so much as twitch a muscle for forty days and forty nights!" The Prophet replied staunchly, crossing his arms over his chest partially covering the great white beard that adorned his face.

The two scientists looked back at each other, "Well then…I suppose you have your answer," Dr. Powell muttered under his breath while his counterpart only sighed. Dr. Pettifog double checked the security of all the wires and cords that were partially hooked into the giant syringe. He moved a blue wire over a red wire, reconnected a loose yellow wire, and then tightened it all together with a black electrical clamp.

Once he was satisfied with the arrangement Dr. Pettifog turned around, gesturing with his arms to the assistants operating outside of the glass theater. With all the poise of an orchestra conductor he said, "We are moving into Phase Two of the project, turn on the machines please."

"Please….Please, just tell me what I did! Please!" Elizabeth begged. Her throat was so raw from screaming, she could barely recognize the sound of her own voice.

Two bright spot lights stood watch over the operating table like a pair of disconcerting white angels, making it nearly impossible to tell what was going on around her. But, out of the corner of her eye Elizabeth could make out the recognizable shape of a siphon, its round speaker system hummed to life with the flip of a switch. She immediately remembered Lady Comstock, and her heart sank. Oh, no….But before Elizabeth could utter a word of protest a jolt of electricity shot through her body like a bullet clearing the muzzle of a gun, and there was nothing left inside of her except screams.

The air inside of the sterile operating room rippled like a summer heat wave.

Dr. Pettifog gave the siphon operators a thumbs up, indicating he wanted the next pulse that went out to be stronger than the first. As more power was directed to them, the machines gradually grew louder diluting the girl's agonizing cries. The waves in the air grew more pronounced, and they slowly manifested themselves as visible ripples throughout the room.

"Get ready!" Dr. Pettifog rasped at his college, nervous tension making his voice crack.

"If she gets even one…"

"I know!" Dr. Powell hissed in reply. He stood near Elizabeth with a syringe full of clear fluid, ready to sedate her, the instant the experiment went awry.

"Ok, full power!" Pettifog shouted.

The air crackled with pent up energy, and half a dozen tears began to emerge all around the circular operating room; each one producing its own unique sounds from an alternate reality. Soon the entire space was filled with a cacophony of voices. It was like being inside a room full of radios where each one was tuned to a different station.

An aggressive male voice sang, _"I've seen your 'Johnny Come lately.' Seen your exiled love parade…for you another is so easy. One more mask for the charade. "_

An old woman whispered, _"The grandmother lived far away from the village, and just as Little Red entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red Riding Hood did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him…"_

Heated words between a man and a woman fenced with each other. Their accents were heavy and twanged like a tuned guitar, "_Oh, Rhett! Please, don't go! You can't leave me! Please! I'll never forgive you!" _

The retort, _"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'll never understand or forgive myself. And if a bullet gets me, so help me, I'll laugh at myself for being an idiot."_

Doctors Powell and Pettifog looked at each other with a sense of wonderment in their eyes. Seeing this many tears into the fabric of space and time crop up all around them was akin to a religious epiphany for them.

"_Yeah you don't hear the sounds I hear. Yeah you don't feel the fear you feel. The distance that is there…well it's wearing really thin now, and breaking you down is gonna be so easy," _the chorus of the song filled the room with its jarring melody.

"_So she ran from the path into the wood to look for flowers. And whenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a still prettier one farther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and deeper into the wood," _the old woman's voice cracked.

The southern belle, "_But you are a blockade runner."_

"_For profit, and profit only." _Her gentleman replied.

Her, _"Are you tryin' to tell me you don't believe in the cause?"_

Him, _"I believe in Rhett Butler, he's the only cause I know."_

"Could we move along, please?" Father Comstock asked rather loudly, the tone of his voice shaking the two scientists out of their momentary reverence.

"Yes, Prophet!" Dr. Pettifog answered quickly.

_"I've felt your high and mighty, parasols and darkest shades. Your sideways glance says maybe, longing eyes give you away…" _

"Turn off the machines," he ordered. The siphons uttered a soft wine as they powered down.

"_Grandmother! What big teeth you have! All the better to eat you with! The wolf replied, before he bounded out of the grandmother's bed and devoured Little Red Riding Hood."_

The tears that hovered about unnaturally in the room remained, lingering in space like ripe colorless fruit. Dr. Pettifog reached over his head to pull the crank on the operating table.

"_Sir, you are no gentleman," _the woman quipped contemptuously.

"_And you, Miss, are no lady," _the man replied in kind.

As the doctor lowered her down, Elizabeth felt the table underneath her drop in awkward jerky movements. The skin on her back was red and raw. She felt as if her blood had been replaced with fire, because her body still burned and tingled with pain.

"_Well walk this way now baby. Bring the pleasure, bring the pain. Your secret's safe with me for saving. No one has to know you came…"_

Elizabeth's eyes were still closed shut. She barely noticed the metal restraints that chained her to the table pop open.

_"The Huntsmen had made two snips into the wolf's belly with a pair of scissors. He saw the little red hood shining inside, and made two snips more, and the little girl sprang out crying: 'Ah! How frightened I have been! How dark it was inside the wolf.' "_

She felt hands on her shoulders trying to lift her up. "Come on now love, we need you to sit up for a moment," Dr. Pettifog's voice sounded muffled in her ears.

At a nod, Dr. Powell inched closer to the girl. In his hands he held a syringe full of heavy sedative poised and ready to strike into the young woman's pale shoulder.

Moaning, Elizabeth managed to sit up for a little bit, but not without Pettifog's help. She couldn't recall a time where she had felt more exhausted in her entire life.

"Now open your eyes," the doctor commanded.

Elizabeth's eyelids felt like lead weights, and it was excruciating to open them. After some time she could only barely look out of narrow slits, and even that took more energy than she knew she still had.

"I suppose that will do. Now child, could you try to open one of these tears for me, dear?" Dr. Pettifog requested politely.

She gathered enough energy to tilt her head back in order to look at the doctor eye to eye. Elizabeth couldn't read his facial expressions because of the white surgical mask he wore, and in some dark part of her mind Elizabeth knew that there was nothing there to find anyway. She arched an eyebrow at the man, the look on her face containing both contempt and surprise. Unable to speak, Elizabeth did her best to fix the doctor with a scornful glare.

"I know you're tired love. It's been an exhausting day for all of us. Please, just do as I ask, and I promise you that we will be done with all of this," For now…was what Dr. Pettifog shrewdly omitted.

The doctor's familiar way of addressing her was beginning to get on Elizabeth's nerves. Every time he called her "love" or "dear" the young woman felt like she had been stung by a bee. It would serve him right if she opened a tear, and shoved him straight into an alternate reality.

Thankfully, Elizabeth didn't have to stand up, because one of the tears hovered directly in front of her. Slowly, she reached out for it with her hands, and began to pry and pull at the space like a person would open malfunctioning elevator doors. Her power had always felt like it had a physical component to it as well as supernatural. She could feel cool ripples of air dance across her finger tips and…..suddenly she dropped to the floor like dead weight. Elizabeth writhed in anguish, her petite frame curled into a tight ball as she screamed.

Both of the scientists released the breath they were holding. Dr. Powell nervously put down the syringe on a nearby metal tray with shaking hands, and Dr. Pettifog whistled with relief. The device they had implanted against her spinal column had delivered a strong electrical shock to the specimen at the right moment where she was about to open the tear.

The two men shook hands enthusiastically, before looking up to the observation room for the Prophet's reaction. As usual the man's face was like a sphinx, hard, and near impossible to interpret.

A few seconds passed before the old man nodded his head in approval. "Congratulations gentlemen," Father Comstock complimented them solemnly, before turning on his heel to leave. When he moved the tall shadow of the man's imposing silhouette briefly fell across the operating theater, momentarily cloaking it in darkness before disappearing.

Elizabeth hadn't moved from her spot on the floor. Scalding, angry tears were running down her cheeks, and she was grateful that the layers of her brown hair hid the shame that she knew was painfully etched into her face.

Doctor Powell hit a button on the operating theater's control console to open a pair of glass doors, while Doctor Pettifog motioned for the nurse, and two male orderlies to come in and collect the girl.

She had one orderly for each arm. Lost in her own thoughts, Elizabeth barely noticed that she was being picked up.

"My God that was exhausting!" One of the doctors exclaimed with a dry laugh.

"I'll say! We should celebrate, would you care to join me for a drink? I have a good bottle of brandy stashed in my office."

As she was slowly dragged out of the operating room, Elizabeth numbly listened to the light hearted banter of the two scientists. While their spirits soared, hers crashed and burned. The orderlies stopped for a moment. They lifted Elizabeth's limp body over the giant red-orange power cables that ran amok all over the place to keep the girl's legs from tripping over them.

Compelled for some unknown reason, Elizabeth raised her head for a moment to listen as they passed a tear.

_"I only know that I love you," _the woman spoke, her southern accent was thick with emotion.

_"That's your misfortune," _the man replied.

Those two simple sentences whispered across space and time bothered Elizabeth more than anything that had happened to her. They had latched on to the young woman's vibrant spirit like leeches, an excruciatingly slow bleed of Elizabeth's sanity and hope had begun. She hung her head back down, her sweat soaked hair fell into her eyes. Her skin felt simultaneously frozen and scorched with pain. The once bright countenance of Elizabeth's face grew dark with emotion. Her thoughts began circling and snapping at each other like a pack of quarreling wolves.

Booker, where are you?

* * *

**AN: Much, much more to come! More crazy things are going to be woven into this story, but things that emotionally resonate with the feel of the characters. It's all down hill from here, but in a good way. ;) **

**The song in Elizabeth's dream was Face to Face, by Siouxsie and the Banshees**

**What was heard from all the tears The song, Easy, by Fuel. Little Red Riding Hood story by the Grimm Brothers. And last but not least conversation bits from Gone With The Wind, by Margret Mitchell.**


	3. Manipulation

Elizabeth spitefully rolled her eyes when Dr. Powell plucked another card from the pile on the table.

"Same as before, tell me what you see" he said curtly.

Dr. Powell held up a white card with black ink splattered across the center of it. Elizabeth released an exhausted sigh. Even though she had no way of telling, it felt like they had been at this for what seemed an eternity. The voxophone recorder made a soft scratching noise in the silence of the room. For a moment Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the bright green leaves of a potted plant that rested on the corner of the desk that the doctor sat behind.

Her arms were stubbornly crossed against her chest, but Elizabeth did eventually look at the card Dr. Powell was practically shoving in front of her face. She stared at the ink pattern that bled black against a crisp white surface.

_"They haven't changed you, Booker. Not…one…bit." Slate whispered as he brought the muzzle of the gun to his sweating forehead. The old man was breathing heavily, and his voice was rough like sandpaper. Elizabeth could still almost hear the gun shot that ended the captain's life as Booker executed him. At the time the warm splatter of blood had made Elizabeth jump clear out of her own skin…._

"A fountain" Elizabeth finally replied.

Dr. Powell raised an eyebrow at her answer, but retrieved another card anyway.

Elizabeth stared at the new ink plot with tired eyes.

"Clouds" she responded slowly, hoping her voice still sounded as bland as the beige wallpaper that decorated the spartan office.

_"Cotton candy here! Get your cotton candy!" A jolly looking fellow wearing a red stripped coat, and top hat yelled. He had a white sign with red lettering hanging around his neck, _Enjoy Delicious Cotton Candy! Free Today! _She remembered smiling when the man took down a bundle of the pink fluff and gave it to her._

_ "Cotton candy for the pretty little lady!" The man with the mustache exclaimed when he passed the sweet into her waiting hands. _

_ She had immediately torn off a piece of the stuff and placed it eagerly in her mouth. The pink fluff was syrupy sweet and it melted on her tongue. Oh, wow. So, this is what it must be like to swallow a cloud, Elizabeth had thought before filling her mouth with another piece. _

_ Fireflies and the whimsical laughter of children floated through the night air as Elizabeth ate her cotton candy underneath the festive lights of a carousel. The breeze stirred her hair, when she turned her head to watch Booker DeWitt saunter across the white washed driftwood boardwalk of Soldier's Field. Mouth full of cotton candy, she tilted her head to the side. She decided that she liked the way he walked. It was only when he turned to look back at her, did Elizabeth realize that she was openly staring at him._

"_What?" Booker had asked._

_A flush of heat rose to her cheeks, and Elizabeth quickly gulped down the remaining fluff that was partially hanging out of her mouth. Instinctively, she hid most of her face behind the pink mound of cotton candy, so Booker wouldn't see her blushing._

_The reply she gave him was both humorous and filled with girlish shyness. "I was just imagining you on a carousel…."_

A new card was put in front of her. In this one she heard the bone-chilling shriek of crows, smell burning flesh, and see bits of bloody intestines from disemboweled corpses….

"String," Elizabeth said nonchalantly.

It seemed to Elizabeth that the more ink Dr. Powell put in front of her, the more blood she saw.

_Her right hand clutched a pair of scissors in the dark as a desperate madness had overtaken all rational thought; riding her like a demon slipping inside the skin of one possessed. _

_She had lunged forward and buried the blades past the dirty cotton work shirt and into vulnerable flesh._

_Elizabeth saw Daisy Fitzroy crawling towards her, with wet horrible sounds spilling out of her mouth as the pools of blood around her feet oozed larger. The sticky, crimson liquid coated her hands, and splattered across her face like tepid rain._

_The Vox Populi leader feebly tugged at her skirt, gazing up at her with dark glassy eyes. Seeing nothing and seeing everything….._

"Weeds," Elizabeth muttered.

"Hmmm? What was that?" Dr. Powell asked.

"I said _weeds_" she repeated back at him irritated.

The scientist scribbled something inside a black notebook, and for a moment Elizabeth wondered what it was. "Moving right along then" he said with a yawn, exchanging the card for a new one.

"How many more of those do you have?" Elizabeth inquired with impatience. She anxiously twisted the thimble on her pinky finger. Fatigue was her constant companion, and the day's "treatments" had been exceptionally grueling. She had wanted nothing more than to collapse into a ball and gratefully lose consciousness...

"_Child, would you like to pray with me?"_

_The red leather chair was slippery with her sweat, even though she had stopped struggling a long time ago. Her eyes were heavy lidded, and Elizabeth weakly turned her head to gaze up at the Prophet._

"_They're hurting me. Please, just let me go!" she rasped._

"_We're going to cure you." Comstock scolded her gently._

"_I'm not sick!" Elizabeth exclaimed defiantly, ignoring the rawness in her throat._

_He had looked at her then with such pity in his judgmental blue eyes. It enraged her as sure as a slap across the face. "Your spirit is…" the Prophet whispered, releasing an exasperated sigh._

"_All I ever wanted was to see you live up to your potential."_

_It made her immensely uncomfortable whenever Comstock talked like that. She wanted no part of his ambitions. So, she swiftly changed the subject before the Prophet could go on one of his self-righteous rants._

"_Well, I'm surprised the Vox Populi hasn't killed you yet" Elizabeth had told him earnestly._

"_They'd have to catch my airship first in order to do that," he replied, crossing his arms. It was a hauntingly familiar gesture, one that to her shame, reminded Elizabeth so much of herself._

"_If they did, it wouldn't matter._ The Hand of the Prophet_ is loaded for bear with Motorized Patriots, as well as soldiers. So, if they dare show their faces to me…well, I will rain down God's judgment upon them…."_

"We have at least forty-five minutes until your next treatment" came Dr. Powell's answer; his reply briefly interrupting Elizabeth's memory.

Elizabeth didn't have a reply for Comstock then. So, she just rolled her head back and closed her eyes. She thought that the most disturbing element about the whole conversation was how casual he seemed about the death of others.

She stared at the ink, fighting against the constant eye strain. If you eliminated the words, and just listened to the tone of his voice, the Prophet could have been talking about how he prefers his coffee, for God's sakes. Booker may have been brutal in killing people, but at least he was hot-blooded, Elizabeth brooded.

_There was the continuous purr of electricity coming from the contraption in the Luctece Labs. Elizabeth had barely noticed it, for the nerves in her body were alive and singing a louder song. Her spine pressed against an unyielding wall. The boning in her corset dug into her flesh like cruel fingers, but they were not nearly as merciless as Booker's mouth pressed hard against her own. The kiss had started off demanding and half angry, but she surrendered to it. Elizabeth's heart fluttered like a wild bird trapped inside her ribcage. She instinctively opened her mouth; and shuddered when she felt the wetness of Booker's tongue slide past her lips. Elizabeth could faintly taste the bite of tobacco and whiskey._

_His large hands had a bruising hold on both of her wrists, as Booker pinned her against a wall. Their bodies were a hair's breath away from touching each other. The rough movement of his lips felt like silk against her mouth and ignited her desire. Elizabeth was dry kindling in Booker's arms, and she drank down the breath of his hunger. She uttered a soft sigh, tilting her head back to answer him with a kiss of her own. Elizabeth glided her own tongue over Booker's, mimicking the wet caress of his mouth. Elizabeth whimpered when he tried to break away from her. Her teeth playfully nipped at Booker's lower lip. _

_He had managed to say, "Dammit" or something like that before she brought their mouths together once again. She remembered his voice being a low stubborn growl, but this time all the bristly defensiveness had drained out of him. Their tongues twisted together in the manner of writhing snakes and negotiating lawyers. Elizabeth slowly assumed control of the kiss, her smooth lips entreating his lust. She could feel the tension in Booker's body radiating down his arms as he gripped her slender wrists. The sweet, ardent supplications she made with her tongue inside of his mouth were ripping apart Booker's self-control. Woman's intuition whispered to Elizabeth that she was playing a dangerous game. When he finally let go of her wrists, fear spiked through her desire. _

_Booker had been holding them to restrain her, in an effort to keep Elizabeth from touching him. Frozen, her forearms remained hovering near her chest. As their mouths reluctantly parted, Booker gazed down at her with feral green eyes. Elizabeth was acutely aware of her own ragged breaths, her soft breasts pressing against the neckline of her corset. His usual mask of indifference had melted away, and even the uninitiated could read the thoughts that burned behind Booker's eyes. His desire and breath scorched her face. Elizabeth's cheeks flushed red. She already felt naked. _

_It was her that had doggedly pushed the issue between them. Now that Elizabeth stood bathing in the open ferocity of Booker's heart, she found her own emotions running hot and cold. She stood at the threshold of things unknown to her. Longing and fear danced with each other. The place between her legs was aching, but reality had sent chills dancing up her spine. Did she truly want what was behind those eyes? _

_The only voices she heard in her head then were those of Robert and Rosalind Luctece._

"_The bird or the cage?"_

_But, this time Booker couldn't help her. The choice was hers; and hers alone. Elizabeth had stared at her trembling hands for a long time. She could either shove him away or…._

_Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. _

_Or she could pull him into an embrace; an embrace that would drown them both. Her deep blue eyes were riveted on Booker's smoldering stare. It was one way or the other; there could be no middle ground in this…_

Dr. Powell roughly shook her by the shoulders, shattering Elizabeth's high-strung nostalgia.

"Hello! Anyone home?" the doctor practically yelled at her with annoyance.

She looked upon the face in front of her. Instead of seeing Booker's roguish features and wild green eyes Elizabeth's vision was filled with Dr. Powell's dull brown eyes, and prominent beaked nose. Whatever the man saw in her facial expression was enough to make him move away from her. Elizabeth could only assume what that was, because disappointment had thoroughly shredded her racing heart.

"Huh?" she mumbled, rapidly blinking her eyes.

The light from the ceiling fan shone brightly on Dr. Powell's slicked back hair, and he shook his head back and forth. "You drifted off, if you must know," he stated with obvious irritation.

Elizabeth squirmed uncomfortably in the leather chair she sat in. The supple skin of her thighs was sweaty, wet sucking sounds filled the uncomfortable silence as the material clung to her warm flesh as she shifted.

"Did I?" she said quietly, looking away from Dr. Powell's scrutinizing gaze. White-knuckled, her delicate hands clenched the arm rests.

"Play at ignorance if you like," the doctor began, returning to his seat.

"But, you stared at this one for at least ten minutes" he told her, retrieving the card and waving it in front of her face in the manner of throwing a stick to a dog.

And I would have happily continued to stare off into space with my memories if you would only let me, Elizabeth thought bitterly.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Elizabeth snapped at him.

The scientist let the piece of paper slip from his fingers, and Elizabeth watched it float into her lap as a white ghost. The sound of squeaking leather drew her attention back to Dr. Powell. He had collapsed into his comfortable chair again with a sigh. Dr. Powell's fingers rubbed his temples in small circular motions before responding.

"What...Do...You…See?" the scientist spoke slowly, as if he were addressing a simpleton.

She looked down at the inkblot in her lap.

Her eyes could not un-see the blood and semen flowing in sanguine rivers down her pale thighs…

Elizabeth pressed the pink petals of her lips together in an angry scowl. She took the inkblot in her hands, and tore the card in half. Then she carefully put the two halves together and ripped the thick paper again. Elizabeth spitefully tossed the pieces across the table and into in Dr. Powell's face.

You're going to have to be a good deal cleverer than that if you want inside my head doctor, she privately mused.

Dr. Powell stared at the remnants of the inkblot, the side of his left cheek twitching with the nervous facial tick that had plagued him since childhood. Oh, how she vexed him right now, but he must discover something personal about the girl in order to successfully modify her behavior. He thought for a moment, before the idea came to him, brightening his expression.

"Alright, let's move on to something different shall we."

Elizabeth immediately distrusted the man's smile. Her right eyebrow hiked up incredulously, as she listened to Dr. Powell rummage through his desk with growing suspicion. For a moment Elizabeth was reminded of the time where she had watched Booker raid the contents of an entire filing cabinet back in Soldier's Field.

_Soft yellow light glowed from a ceiling lamp; its reflection slanted off a glass window, and cast shadows across Booker's lean body. Wide eyed, Elizabeth observed him pocket a hand full of silver eagles, before peeking into another drawer without a care in the world._

"_What happens if someone finds us here?" she had asked him nervously._

"_We'll tell them we got lost on our way to the bathroom," was his dry, nonchalant answer, so intent in his foraging he didn't even pause to turn around and look at her._

_She had elegantly raised both arches of her eyebrows at the notion. "And people will believe that?"_

"_Not usually, no." Booker replied as he turned around; his face had been an impenetrable mask of cool detachment then..._

Around a dozen voxophones clattered against Dr. Powell's desk, as they spilled out of his arms onto the polished wooden surface. Elizabeth stared at the pile as if he had placed a hornet's nest in front of her instead of harmless audio recordings.

"In this exercise I am going to play a recording; and then you are going to identify what the sound for me." Dr. Powell told her hurriedly.

Well, this was certainly new.

"Fine, go ahead," said Elizabeth dismissively, with a wave of her hand.

Every day she had to suffer his inquires; she just wanted to be done with it already. Elizabeth re-crossed her arms, and leaned back into her chair when Dr. Powell pressed the round, red button on the first recording.

"_Did you know that this artificial beach was built in only six months," she told him with traces of mischief in her words. Her boots made a hollow clicking sound as she floated down the plank wood stairs and stepped into the soft golden sand of Battleship Bay. _

"_Oh, yeah? And how do you know that?" Booker asked, taking the bait._

_She paused to scratch the back of her neck with her right hand, as she gazed up at her rescuer standing tall in the bright sunlight. "From one of the books I threw at you," she responded, smugly._

_Her thumb brushed over the tips of her fingers, as she briefly paused to stare at her thimble, its metal surface was warm from the sun. "They also served passing well for reading," Elizabeth continued, mimicking Booker's dry sarcasm. See, you'll get as good as you give, Mr. DeWitt, came her unbidden thoughts, all innocence and girlish playfulness…._

"The ocean," Elizabeth said. She didn't think she knew that infectiously cheerful girl anymore. The path she treaded upon had become so complicated.

Dr. Powell carried on, pressing recording after recording. Elizabeth's answers came fast, her voice sounding as flat as a beverage left out all day in the afternoon sun.

A Dog barking…A clock…A train…a Dollar Bill automan…a door closing, a horn; then Elizabeth almost laughed when the Prophet's voice floated into her ears. "Lies," she stated bluntly with a little yawn. Dr. Powell glowered at her in disapproval. Elizabeth innocently shrugged her shoulders, as if to say "you started this game, don't blame me if you don't like my answers."

When the next recording played Elizabeth heard nothing but the rapid succession of bullets being fired. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hesitating for a second before the words "gun shots," made it pass her lips. Dr. Powell made a mark in his note pad.

Then she heard the shouts of high, young voices, a child calling after a playmate, which was followed by a fit of carefree giggling. "Children…" she spoke quietly. Elizabeth saw the gaunt, filthy faces of the children in Shanty Town; children that grew up without laughter as well as food. Huge eyes had protruded from hollow bones, and stared back at her with empty expressions. She would never be able to banish those haunted faces and hushed voices from her memory, and the realization twisted her stomach into knots.

The recording that followed filled the room with the twang of a guitar. The hairs on the nape of Elizabeth's neck stood on seized her heart when she heard the melody. The notes the instrument played hit her like bullets to her breast. How could they possibly know what that song meant to her?

_Will the circle be unbroken? By and by, Lord…by and by…_

Elizabeth was reminded of Booker of course, but it didn't really matter what was played or put in front of her. Every damn thing she saw, heard, or smelled brought him to the center of her mind, like a parasite persistently clinging to its host.

_Did she dare? _

_His shirt had teasingly tickled her nose, but that wasn't what made her heart race. Elizabeth felt the rough, warm muscles of his shoulder blades underneath her hands. Her finger tips cautiously traveled down the path of Booker's scars the way an archeologist would study ancient hieroglyphics. Her face hovered dangerously close to the bare skin of Booker's back. _

_Did she dare? _

_Her body suddenly thrilled at feeling Booker's strength beneath her hands. His flesh was enticing Elizabeth in ways that only her instincts understood. Before she knew what she was doing her mouth had already landed on his exposed skin. Her wet, pink tongue flicked out to taste the blood and salt of him… _

"Well?" Dr. Powell said impatiently. Elizabeth had that far off look in her eyes again.

_As a dog would herd sheep, desire had easily driven Elizabeth to mold her body against Booker's…_

"_Booker! Please… please, don't stop…" she had gasped._

"_You don't know what you're asking," Booker seethed between clenched teeth, as he shoved her away…_

"Music," Elizabeth managed say, her voice thickening with emotion.

Against her will, a stray tear fell from the corner of her eye, mournfully running down the side of her face. She heard the sound of Dr. Powell's pen scribbling away in the notebook he always kept by his side. His hand flew across the page as he wrote. Elizabeth watched him through a veil of dark brown hair.

When he was finally done, Dr. Powell placed the pen and notebook aside.

"Ah, we've come to the last one," he stated pleasantly, moving the final voxophone to the other side of the desk where its companions waited.

Was it a trick of her imagination or did the click of the button sound louder, somehow?

"_What's a voxophone?"_

The turbulent tide of raw emotion that had threatened to burst out of Elizabeth's skin once she heard the song was now boiling over. The single tear that had delicately hovered in her dark eye lashes had developed into a torrid river that shook her entire body. Her petite frame trembled under the overwhelming burden of loneliness.

Elizabeth placed a hand against her mouth, hoping to stifle the cry that clawed its way out of her heart with tender hooks to be born inside her throat. _Oh, God_…did she miss that voice, and the man it belonged to.

Raised in solitary confinement inside her tower, she had thought she knew what it was like to be alone. Elizabeth had thought she knew what despair felt like every damn time she failed to pick the lock on the door to her cage. Elizabeth thought she knew the meaning of desire everyday she stared out of her library window at the clouds wistfully floating by, wishing she could do the same.

She had _thought_ she knew so many things… A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Elizabeth's lips, as she brooded bitterly.

She knew how to keep man from dying; she could crack just about any code, and pick nearly every lock in Columbia. Elizabeth could talk circles around almost anybody about every single subject under the sun, and her memory was just as sharp as the blades of a Skyhook.

And yet emotionally…she really was like a lamb led to the slaughter.

Her sniffles and the static of the voxophone recorder were the only sounds to be heard in the room. When Elizabeth opened her eyes she found Dr. Powell practically leaning half his body over the desk to offer her a thin white cloth to dry her tears.

Elizabeth sucked in a ragged breath of air. Isn't that nice, she thought.

Her small hands flexed into angry fists as she stared at the handkerchief.

Elizabeth smiled for the first time in weeks when she saw the surprise in Dr. Powell's eyes when her right fist suddenly smashed into the side of his jaw.

The legs of her chair poignantly scraped against the hardwood floor as Elizabeth scooted back, and she stood up. Dr. Powell was awkwardly half sprawled across the desk, blood was running down his mouth, and the man uttered soft whimpering sounds as he cradled the side of his face. The voxophones, the recorder, papers, the yellow lamp, everything, even the little green plant that had taken up residence on corner of the doctor's desk had crashed to the floor in an unceremonious heap.

Dr. Powell looked up at the girl, reeling from both the pain and the shock of her striking him. Tears were still slowly trickling down Elizabeth's face, but her full mouth was pulled into a taunt smile, and the look in her eyes was filled with more resentment than sorrow.

Elizabeth cracked her knuckles as she stood over him, it was a gesture she saw Booker do once. She might not be over six feet tall like him, but the fear that crept across the scientist's face was rewarding enough.

"You forget yourself, 'doctor'" she spoke the word like it was a curse.

"That…_thing_, you put inside me, keeps me from opening tears." Elizabeth continued on in that condescending tone that Dr. Powell had used with her earlier, mocking him.

"There is _nothing_ stopping me from hitting you."

* * *

**AN: Curse those intrusive scientists! But, do not fear fellow readers Elizabeth shall remember/re-live those steamy Booker memories in full detail soon, among other things…. *wink wink* ;)**


	4. Just you, me, and the rain

**AN: First of all this chapter is VERY long, but I hope very well paced and thoughtful. In it is probably the most realistic, psychological interpretation that I came up with about how extremely complicated Elizabeth & Booker's relationship is. Every nitty-gritty detail about the sexuality of these characters is fleshed out in what I hope is a very accurate portrayal of the characters in the game. For all of you Booker+Elizabeth shippers out there, I hope by the time you are through reading, you will wish that it was in the actual game, because it would have made for one hell of a intense character development twist.**

**Secondly, this chapter is a mutant, and spiraled out of control, just like the life of our favorite protagonist, Booker DeWitt. :) It was originally only intended to be part of my Where We Learn story, but it became a hybrid of my Lions & Lambs story as well. Even though Lions & Lambs was initially a one-shot I am posting this chapter in both stories because people are still following it, and I spilled WAY too much creative blood to chance that those of you, kind souls that enjoy my writing not to see it. So, anyone who is following both, and sees it pop up twice in their Story Notifications, I am sorry, but hopefully you will be so engrossed and on the edge of your seat to care. Much love to you all. 3**

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The gray sky above Emporia crackled with flashes of lightning, heightening the panic that was racing through Elizabeth's veins. Her hands were coated with hot sticky blood for the second time that day, as she frantically pressed against Booker's chest. She could hear the wild call of thunder off in the distance as it prowled closer to the Plaza Prosperity gondola station. The first tentative droplets of rain went unnoticed as Elizabeth cradled Booker's unmoving body. Her pale white hands were shaking as she hastily unbuttoned Booker's shirt to inspect the wound. The gaping red hole in his chest made her breath hitch in her throat as she examined it in horror.

_Oh, no_…._NO_, she would not lose him. Elizabeth's mind was working rapidly, as her thoughts desperately groped for some solution to fix her dire situation. Then she remembered that there was a tear across the plaza filled with medical kits and health tonics; if she ran she could make it. So she left him underneath the green sapling tree amongst the haphazard trunks of belongings the founders had left behind where she and Booker were forced to retreat during the fire fight with the Vox Populi.

She paid no attention to the sky that was opening up above her head to shed cold, angry tears of its own. Elizabeth ran across the small bridge, her heels rapidly clicking across the pale gold and red cobble stone path, dodging the leather duffel bags and dead corpses alike that littered the ground. She ignored the gentle waterfall flowing off to her side, the mini-forts that the green and blue gelded trunks made stacked on top of each other in whimsical irony, the glowing pale green sign welcoming them to the gondola station, and the cart in the middle of the plaza baring someone's belongings like a broken gift horse. Elizabeth had eyes only for the familiar dull gray static ahead of her.

Her hands came together in a quasi-prayer as she ran. Elizabeth plunged her fingers into the malleable rip she saw in space. She tore it open, uncovering the box with medical supplies. _Shit._ She couldn't possibly carry it all back with her, Elizabeth thought panicking for a moment. She would have to do her best with what she could. So without wasting another moment, Elizabeth grabbed a red and white medical bag, cradling it in the crook of her left arm, and snatched two of the biggest Health tonic bottles in the box with her right hand. The bottom of her dark blue velvet dress swirled as she quickly turned on her heel and broke into a full out run again.

Elizabeth's boots skidded across the stones underfoot that were becoming slick with water muddied with dust and blood the more the rain came down. Thankfully the light illuminating from the tall, skinny, iron street lamps was enough to allow her to see what was ahead of her in the growing darkness; because if she had accidentally dropped a bottle of the precious liquid, she would have broken down into a sobbing mess. But thankfully, that wasn't the case. So she ran with confidence, her slender legs stretching out underneath her like an agile deer. Elizabeth flew back to the vista where Booker's unconscious body lay.

The slender trunk of the young tree that was planted in a cement island across the bridge was bending under the pressure of a sudden gust of wind, its green leaves rustling as it trembled. Elizabeth's hands shook similarly, once she reached Booker. Even scattered among the over turned trunks, they were truly at a beautiful spot with a tremendous view. If Booker's life hadn't been bleeding out onto the pavement she might have taking the time to sit on the wooden bench and appreciate it.

She knelt down looking at Booker's chest once again, and winced at the growing pool of crimson creeping across his white undershirt. Elizabeth felt for a pulse, it was very weak, but still there. Elizabeth unscrewed the cap of the bright red beaker, and tilted Booker's head up in her lap. She opened his mouth and carefully poured the liquid down his throat, massaging his neck to make sure he actually swallowed it. After the first bottle was completely empty, nothing changed. Elizabeth grabbed the second tonic and quickly began working that down, taking care to ensure every last drop of the healing liquid went into Booker's mouth.

Elizabeth shook his shoulders and lightly slapped his face.

"Come on Booker! Don't die on me!" she pleaded.

As if her cries could coax the unconscious man back to life.

She made a hasty grab for the medical kit, opening it with such urgency her whole body quivered with adrenaline. Elizabeth' keen eye saw what she was looking for among the contents of the bag. She snatched a large hypodermic needle and a greenish-yellow container from inside. Elizabeth popped off the lid of the jar with her thumbs. She took the needle and pushed its tip past the thin metal foil covering that kept the liquid from spilling out. Elizabeth pressed down on the plunger then pulled it back filling the syringe with the strange fluid; she tapped the needle making sure the liquid would flow properly into Booker's veins once she put the needle through his flesh.

Elizabeth buried the syringe into Booker's chest. When the needle punctured his skin she pushed the plunger down shooting the green-yellow substance into his body. For a moment all her efforts seemed to be in vain when nothing happened. Elizabeth's heart stopped as grief was crawling its way up her throat. But, then she thought she saw Booker's eye lashes flutter.

"Stay with me Booker!" she whispered, her voice trembling as she held his face. Elizabeth watched him fight to regain consciousness, so she kept talking to him, not caring what she said. Empathic to her core, she struggled with him, rocking back and forth as she held him in her arms; willing him to live, willing him to open his eyes, like a fisherman trying to force submission on a flailing fish caught on his line.

Only when Booker's eyes finally opened did Elizabeth feel like she could breathe again. She smiled when she saw those intense green eyes gazing back at her. "Come on," she said. "We can't stay out in the open like this."

She stood up, and offered him a hand up as he coughed. Booker pressed his palms against the wet cobble stones, he groaned, and turned his head off to the side to spit out a wad of blood. Booker managed to struggle to his feet, and when he stumbled Elizabeth was right there at his side to hold him up. One of his arms draped around her shoulders, as she pressed her side into him. Elizabeth had to use both of her arms to keep him from slipping.

_God, he's heavy, _she thought. Elizabeth realized that she would not be able to support his weight for long; she looked around quickly and decided that the small alleyway with the Minute Man automan across from them would have to work. At least it had a roof and would keep them dry from the rain.

"Ok, time to walk Booker. I can't move you all by myself; so you have to help me, ok?"

He didn't say anything but only nodded his head. Elizabeth took a deep breath, and tightened her grip on his arm. Booker's eyelids were heavy, but she kept on talking to bolster his resolve as well as hers.

"Step with your left foot, that's it, now with your right" Elizabeth ordered, as the both of them sluggishly inched forward. She kept repeating that over and over again as they moved together. It was awkward for her to keep pace with Booker's long strides since he was a foot taller than her, but Elizabeth was determined, and diligently pushed forward one agonizing step at a time.

Once they reached the short, dark, alleyway, Booker's arm slid from Elizabeth's shoulder as he spilled onto the wooden bench that was nested half way into the niche, just beyond the incessant prattle of the Minute Man automan. It was dark but, there was enough light to see by from the obnoxiously bright bulbs that framed the automan in a comical halo.

Fortunately, Booker was also becoming more coherent by the time they'd reached shelter. He groaned in pain when Elizabeth helped him out of his holsters and vest. She placed them off to the side at the other end of the bench.

"Where else do you hurt?" she asked.

Booker's eyes were closed with the effort of trying to shut out the pain.

"Hell if I know, everything hurts," he managed to mumble.

"Sit up so I can see" Elizabeth instructed.

Booker leaned forward with a grunt, and she sat down next to him slipping off his shirt; then lifting up his undershirt. His back looked like a red mess, but with blood smeared everywhere it was almost impossible to tell where it was all coming from. Elizabeth frowned as her hands gingerly pressed against the raw skin, her finger tips walking along the tense muscles in Booker's back.

"By your silence I can only assume that half my hide is gone," Booker grumbled dryly.

"Well, it's not pretty that's for sure. But there's too much blood for me to tell exactly where you're hurt" she replied, getting up from the bench.

Thunder boomed through the hollow space, as a torrent of rain mournfully cascaded down from the heavens. The jarring sound made Booker open his eyes, and he looked down the passageway at the rainstorm. He whistled, and Elizabeth looked back at him.

"Damn. I guess I'm luckier than I thought," Booker stated as he turned towards her thoughtfully.

"That's two you owe me now" Elizabeth replied holding up two fingers.

Booker's head tilted to the side as if he could see her better that way. She didn't have the first clue what he was thinking as he stared at her. "I suppose you're right."

"Look, I need to go get the medical supplies I left out there so I can finish patching you up," she told him nonchalantly, matching the dry tone he often took when he spoke with her.

"In _that_?" Both of Booker's eyebrows were raised as he indicated the torrential down pour that was currently smothering Emporia in rain.

"Yes, Booker" she said with an exhausted sigh. "And I need you to stay put, while I go get them" Elizabeth continued sternly, pointing her index finger at him for emphasis.

"No, I'm fine," he protested. Elizabeth watched Booker try to get up, but pain hit him like the backhand of a Handyman and he collapsed back down onto the bench, grimacing. Elizabeth shook her head in dismay while she removed her jacket. Why do men have to be so stubborn? She wondered placing the blue velvet material on the bench beside Booker's belongings.

"Of course you are! You just have a hole torn through your chest and your back half melted by a flack canon" Elizabeth announced sarcastically rolling her eyes.

"Hey now, you make it sound like I go out of my way to get shot at; like I actually enjoy getting nailed in the back by flack canons just for kicks," he retorted just as sarcastically.

Elizabeth sat down at the other end of the bench kicking off her boots, "You can't say I didn't warn you."

In fact she had, but just by the time Elizabeth had called out the words Booker had been hit. She had to watch helpless unable to do anything but toss him more Salts in hopes that Booker's crows would finish the last of the Vox off. Elizabeth heard Booker sigh, his eyelids shut tight once again. The man had a frustratingly good poker face, just when she had thought she had figured him out he would change and surprise her, and then to her disappointment the cool facade of indifference would fall back in place. At the current moment all that was gone and the pain rippling across the lines of Booker's face made Elizabeth heart sick. She watched his broad chest shudder with tiny tremors, as she speedily lifted up her dress to pull off her petticoat and stockings.

"Just what are you doing?" he inquired curiously.

Elizabeth knew her face had to be bright red, but thankfully Booker's eyes remained closed, sparing her the embarrassment that the rustle of her skirts and delicate click of her garters might have implied.

"I'm going to get rained on, but there's no sense in having every article of clothing soaking wet. When I get back I'll at least have some dry things to put on," she explained with a shrug.

"Good idea," he muttered back before being taken over by a fit of violent coughing. Elizabeth placed the rest of her things with her boots and jacket, and went over to Booker, lightly resting her hands on his shoulders to steady him.

When the spell was over Booker leaned back into the bench. "Christ…" he cursed, wiping off the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Elizabeth placed a hand on his forehead with concern. "Just stay where you are, and I'll be right back."

For the first time she saw worry pass across Booker's face, not for himself, but for her. "You don't have to do this," he whispered hoarsely. Elizabeth only shook her head at him. Men never learn.

"Yes I do, now hold on. I'll be back before you know it," she insisted turning on the balls of her feet to leave.

When she was turning away Booker seized the opportunity to snatch her hand in his.

"Why?" he asked, holding Elizabeth in place.

The emotion on the man's face wasn't one she could easily identify, but she suspected it had less to do with her and more to do with his opinion of himself.

"Because chivalry isn't dead Mr. DeWitt," she joked, momentarily distracting Booker from his own penchant for self-hatred.

Her reply must have been so unexpected, that she actually saw Booker smile. It had traces of bitterness in it to be sure as well as amusement, but to Elizabeth it was beautiful.

"My hero," he said with a laugh, but not unkindly. Elizabeth found herself chuckling as well. A fit of giggles unexpectedly came sputtering out of her mouth with abandon. They were enjoying a brief respite of humor on what had been a long and dark day.

Elizabeth quickly became drunk with hysterical laughter as she imagining herself carrying Booker in her arms, bridal style. What a sight that would make. "Yes, and when I get back I'll work on that whole 'sweeping you off your feet' bit" she teased recklessly, making an exaggerated swopping gesture with her arms. Her hand demurely covered her mouth as she continued to laugh, trying desperately not to hiccup.

When she had dried the tears in her eyes, Elizabeth realized that Booker was no longer laughing with her. She could feel his eyes on her and goose flesh made the hairs on her bare arms stand on end. The way Booker was looking at her…something had just changed between them, and only the primal part of her brain that Elizabeth had no words for understood what it was. All she could do was stand there feeling the heat of his gaze flush across her chest, climb up the slender white column of her neck, to bloom pink on her cheeks.

The muscles in her stomach were twisted into knots, and Elizabeth felt like her skin was burning everywhere his eyes looked. "What? Was that not funny?" she hesitantly asked, but the only reply she heard was from the pouring rain.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Who's to say you already haven't?" He finally replied in a low voice.

"Haven't what?" Elizabeth nervously fidgeted with the thimble on her pinky, twirling it around as the unbearable silence ate her alive.

"Swept me off my feet," Booker spoke softly.

It was the same tone of voice he would use to soothe her whenever she was stressed, but there was something different in it now. Elizabeth thought there was warmth in it now that hadn't been there before. She gulped, suddenly acutely aware of the skin she lived in, every nuance of her own delicate construct became obvious to her. Elizabeth didn't know what to say, so she offered him a shy smile; the barest tug at the corners of her mouth, as she backed up moving closer to the rain.

"I'll be right back," she told him before disappearing behind a gray curtain of water.

_Shit._

Booker shook his head in dismay as he watched Elizabeth go. He was always near a nervous wreck whenever she was out of his sight. This time that emotion was only compounded by the new mutation his feelings towards Elizabeth had just evolved into.

He wanted her, and not in the "get out of debt free" card sort of way.

He _wanted_ her.

_Shit._ How the hell did his feelings toward the girl suddenly change from safely platonic into carnal desire?

He tried to go through the conversation in his head, and work out the problem logically like any good detective. But the words fled Booker's mind on white wings while visions of Elizabeth's body saturated his thoughts, and brought him down into Hell.

When he first met her, Booker found Elizabeth to be quite girlish, easy on the eyes, true, but nothing more than that. That was before she had stood in front of him in bare feet, with only her corset, and blue dress covering her lithe, young body. Booker uncomfortably shifted in his seat, pain pulsing through his body like he had been put through a grinder and spit back out. But, it wasn't those naked arms and shoulders that had morphed Elizabeth from a pretty girl into a woman that he wanted to devour from the mouth down. Booker hung his head in his hands, letting his unruly hair fall in his eyes.

She had giggled in front of him without a care in the world, and that was pleasant. But, it was when her laughter had suddenly pitched down into a lower throaty chuckle that had pulled a subconscious trigger inside him. He would have never thought that Elizabeth was capable of making a sound like that. It felt like a cheap shot hitting him blow below the belt, quite literally. It was a woman's sound; a sound that you made love to, it was a sound that he wanted to wrap his tongue around. Oblivious when that suggestive noise escaped Elizabeth's mouth Booker noticed that she had moved like a woman too. Her arms flowed with the poise of a dancer to place emphasis on their little joke, but when she doubled over in a fit of laughter, her breasts had sweetly pressed against the low neckline of her corset as if to escape the constricting garment. The expression on Elizabeth's face had also been a deliciously titillating innuendo with her dark eyelashes fluttering down demurely, and her full sensual lips parted in a little "O" shape. The thin barrier of projected innocence that had shielded Booker from sexualizing all his subconscious mental notations of Elizabeth's endearing features had disappeared like it had never been there. Something as innocent as laughing at a joke turned her from a girl into a woman he wanted to fuck in the bat of an eye. She shouldn't have been able to do that.

_Fuck._ Booker gritted his teeth together in protest against the growing tightness in his pants. He was bleeding out, a mere step away from the devil claiming his soul, and he had an erection growing into the size of Comstock's ego. Before Elizabeth returned he needed to have his emotions well buried, and back on a collar and chain._ Get a fucking grip Booker; this doesn't change a damn thing. _He chastised himself silently, but his body wasn't listening. If he could safely move around without falling over, he would have gotten up and paced around to work off some of the tension. He had to do something to take his mind off Elizabeth.

A fresh wave of pain radiated from his chest, making Booker gasp for air. Might as well see for himself how bad his wounds were. Booker shrugged out of the open shirt, wincing in pain as the dark cotton slipped off his broad shoulders. He looked down and saw nothing but a field of red covering his chest from sternum to navel. "Shit," he muttered. It was worse than he thought. With a groan Booker peeled off his ruined sleeveless undershirt. He held the limp fabric in his hand, scowling as he stared at it. It had once been completely white, but now it was so thoroughly saturated with blood the cloth could have easily been mistaken for just a plain red garment. The symbolism was not lost on Booker, and he angrily threw the soiled shirt in the direction of a nearby trash bin. It bounced off the lid and landed gracelessly on the cold ground.

Booker swore. Irritated, he gripped the armrest of the bench and hauled himself to his feet. He stood there for a moment breathing heavily, as the pain in his chest washed him in waves of vertigo. But, Booker was incensed now and that was good. He held onto the flame of anger and stoked it with devoted self-loathing. He moved forward with one hand bracing the wall.

Once he reached the trash bin, Booker initially bent forward to pick up his ruined shirt, but he started to feel light headed again. Ok, not such a good idea. He would have to be more creative. Booker slid the tip of his boot underneath the shirt and deftly kicked it up in the air. He held the damp cloth tightly in his right hand as he caught it. Good, his reflexes were still working. In this crazy place where anything could happen he needed to stay sharp; and Booker hated the thought of his shooting arm being too damn slow.

He discarded the garment on top of the trash without a second thought, when something caught his attention. In a flash of lightning Booker swore he saw the glimmer of glass. He lifted up a paper bag, and there it was. _Well, luck be a lady tonight_…he scooped up the bottle in his right hand, holding it up at eye level for inspection. Part of the label had been scratched off, but Booker could recognize that distinctive shade of amber anywhere. He had half a bottle of whiskey in his hands.

"Hello, "Booker whispered to himself, greeting his poison of choice like an old friend.

"_Dangerous times, dangerous measures. Protect your women and your treasures" _The Minute Man automan drawled obnoxiously, flailing its mechanical arms.

Booker's eyes narrowed. "What are you lookin' at?" he asked the machine quirking his mouth to the side, before shuffling back to the bench with his prize. Every step Booker took was agony, and he instantly felt better when he sat down again. It was getting cold so he grabbed his shirt, and slipped it back on, but didn't bother to button it. Elizabeth still needed to sow him back together anyway.

_Elizabeth…._

He spun the bottle cap off with familiar ease, and tossed it into the darkness. Booker placed the bottle to his lips and took a swig. The harsh substance burned all the way down his throat as he swallowed, and made his toes curl. Booker slouched down into his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He lifted the bottle back to his mouth, fingers stroking its long glass neck, taking another drink.

As an alcoholic Booker had a high tolerance for the substance, so he could drink a disturbingly large amount of it. After years of drinking his gut had been turned into iron, and what would send a normal man flat on his ass only made him slightly sleepy. When given the opportunity, Booker drank probably just as much as Father Comstock prayed. However, possessing such a high tolerance also made it more difficult to reach the blissful numbness that had fostered the addiction in the first place. But, he hadn't eaten recently and that made him hopeful.

Feeling a slight tingle of fuzziness another swallow of whiskey flowed into Booker's mouth. With each sip he was feeling better and better, Booker tipped the bottle towards his head in a gesture of acknowledgement. "Thanks, you judgmental bastard," was the only conversation he ever wanted to have with God. If He even existed, which Booker doubted, _but_ if He did…then if He was merciful he would be too drunk to see straight by the time Elizabeth returned. Maybe if she stayed a formless blur, she would stay out of his mind. Booker could only hope that the booze dulled his senses enough that any lewd thoughts to come would be too weak to trouble him. It was a gamble to be sure, and he was playing against himself even more than Elizabeth. He put his money on her innocence, and hoped it was a safe bet. Nothing to do now but let it ride was the tipsy thought that went through Booker's mind.

The alcohol may have numbed him somewhat, but as the minutes stretched on Booker grew more and more restless when he didn't see Elizabeth. He was just about to put the bottle of whiskey aside and go see where the hell she had gotten herself to, when her petite silhouette emerged from the rainfall as a bittersweet vision that lanced through his heart. Booker grumbled, so much for the hope of being bleary eyed and unfocused he thought.

"Jesus Christ, Elizabeth," he cursed when he saw her come closer.

The rain had soaked her to the bone, and wet rivulets ran down from her face all the way to her bare feet. Elizabeth's brown hair was plastered against her face, and her skinny arms trembled with goose bumps as she clutched the hem of her dress which looked more black than blue at the moment.

Booker saw what she did, Elizabeth had turned her dress into a makeshift bag of sorts and gathered what it looked like to him every single health tonic, first aid kit, she could find in the whole damn area. Elizabeth knelt down on the ground and one by one carefully took each item out of her lap, settling them beside her. Elizabeth pushed her wet hair out of her face, as she handed him a large tonic, with the signature "L" of a Lutece label brandished into the glass.

"Here, take this to get you started" she said, placing the slippery beaker next to Booker on the bench.

"Jesus, Elizabeth…"he uttered in a low growly voice.

Her elegant eyebrows knit together in a mix of humor and concern as she looked up at Booker.

"You already said that Booker, if you say it again I'm going to start to really worry."

Booker felt his mouth go as dry as the desert. His grip tightened on the whiskey bottle. He had said it the first time because he was genuinely alarmed by Elizabeth shivering in front of him like a leaf in the wind. The second time…..well, damn his eyes. Elizabeth's white corset was so soaked by the rain Booker could see the flesh of her breasts right through the fabric, the pink buds of her nipples were large and hard, just like he was about to be if he didn't quit staring.

_She's trying to save your life, and you can't stop starting at her tits, you piece of shit, _was the scalding reprimand that echoed inside of Booker's head. If he had been a woman, or an inexperienced young man by all rights his face would have been redder than a clown's nose at a circus just then, but Booker was neither of those. So his poker face remained straight as he took a huge swig of whiskey.

He took off his shirt, and offered it to her. "Here, dry yourself off."

Radiant, Elizabeth smiled at him as she pressed her face against the cloth to dry off.

"Thanks, Booker," she said, wrapping the dark fabric around her shivering body.

He couldn't allow himself to touch her, but at least this way she could get dry. Booker carefully set the whiskey down beside him, and traded it for the Health tonic Elizabeth gave him. It tasted like cough medicine, but he supposed it could be worse.

"Better?" Elizabeth inquired, finally standing up to stretch.

"Mmhmm."

"That's good, take your time drinking the rest of them, we might be stuck here awhile." She told him indicating the steady rainfall outside. Booker grimaced at the prospect, but hid it well with a fit of coughing as he finished off the red liquid.

"Hey, where did you get that?" she asked Booker, pointing at the bottle of whiskey sitting next to him.

"From a trash can." He replied picking it up, and taking a drink.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him. Booker's…."foraging" skills were a bit unorthodox to say the least. She opened her mouth to say something, but Elizabeth could only shake her head, holding her hands in the air in the universal gesture of "I give up."

"Can I at least use some of it to sterilize your wounds?"

Booker didn't reply, but he held out the bottle to her. Tingles of electricity crawled up his arm like the side effects of too much Shock Jockey as the tips of her fingers brushed across his hand when she took the alcohol from him.

"Don't look so sad, you'll get it back," Elizabeth said trying to humor him. The way he pouted made her feel like she was taking away a security blanket from a child. That's what Elizabeth's eyes telegraphed to him right now. Booker supposed that it probably wasn't fair that he could easily read her emotions while she had no clue how to read his. She had just taken away the object Booker was counting on to prevent himself from wondering what her flesh felt like, and keep his hands to himself. Idle hands are the devil's workshop as his momma used to say. Well, he had acquired quite a large collection of vices since then. Yeah, it was unfair he could read Elizabeth like a book, but it was also safer for the both of them.

Booker grabbed another Health tonic for the sake of keeping his hands occupied, and slowly nursed it while Elizabeth tipped the bottle of alcohol on a strip of linen. When the cloth touched him, he barely noticed it.

"Doesn't that sting?" Elizabeth asked, carefully wiping the blood off his chest.

Booker was concentrating so hard on not thinking about her that the whiskey on his open wounds didn't even faze him. "I suppose," he replied quietly. She took the bottle and poured more of the amber liquid on a fresh piece of cloth, discarding the first one when it became completely red.

Elizabeth's nose crinkled up at the smell of it. "Good grief and you actually _like_ to drink this stuff?" she stated in disbelief.

Booker had to smile at the comment. She looked adorable with his shirt hanging off her petite frame making funny faces at him. "It's a…acquired taste" he drawled, almost sounding charitable. Elizabeth skewered him with a look, her head tilted gracefully to the side. Those blue eyes of hers were filled with so much warmth. They were eye to eye with him sitting down and her standing over him, and Booker really noticed them now.

"You don't drink it because it tastes good. You drink it for the effects," he told her. When her hand rubbed his abdomen, Booker closed his eyes. He could feel all the blood in his body rush south.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it._

Booker let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Elizabeth had moved around him before she noticed his rather obvious reaction to her hands touching him. She climbed onto the bench next to him and he turned to the side so she could get to his back easier.

"You only have that one gash in your chest that needs stitched up," she told him beginning to clean off the bloody mess at his back. Elizabeth shifted around uncomfortably as she passed the cloth across Booker's shoulders. The bench wasn't being particularly kind on her boney knees.

_Thank God._ Booker thought, he didn't think he could handle her touching him below the navel again. Speaking of that, he grabbed the bottle and took a long, deep swig of whiskey. Elizabeth watched the backwash of saliva and alcohol travel down the glass with wide eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "So the effects," Elizabeth began to say as she retreated behind his back. "What are they exactly?"

"What? You mean being drunk?" Booker responded taking another swallow, the more beneficial health tonic he was nursing left forgotten and placed underneath the bench.

"Yeah, I mean, I could give you the _definition_ of "alcoholic intoxication," but what does it actually _feel _like?""

Booker smiled lazily, looking rather devilish because Elizabeth wasn't standing in front of him to see it.

"Warm and fuzzy."

"Really? That doesn't sound so bad. So why do people get into drunken brawls all the time?" she asked, making a pass with the linen down Booker's spine.

He shuddered and not from pain.

"Liquor affects people differently. Nobody has the exact same reaction to it. Some men have to drink a lot in order to get drunk, while some, only a little." Booker responded; sucking in a breath of air as he finally felt the sting of alcohol on open flesh all of a sudden.

"And which are _you_?" she inquired coquettishly, bestowing a mischievous grin to Booker's well-muscled back,"are you a man who can drink a lot or a little?"

_Why don't you just ask me how big my dick is? _Booker mused through the heady fog of alcohol. The whiskey was finally starting to work its magic.

_Jesus Fucking Christ_, he was sitting out a rain storm in a floating sky-city run by religious zealots, being patched back together by a girl that could literally rip holes through reality, discussing the finer points of drinking. Those little bohemian shitheads that skulked around the trendier bars in New York couldn't pull a more ridiculous story out of their asses after spending an entire night with a bottle of Absinth.

"A lot." Booker told her as simply as possible, having neither the desire nor the energy to go into the nitty-gritty of his personal drinking habits.

"Are you drunk right now?" Elizabeth asked Booker, while she examined the wounds that cut open his back.

The question made him burst into laughter, a low rumbly sound that felt like tremors of an earthquake beneath Elizabeth's hands. When he finally stopped, Booker shook his head in part amusement and part dismay. He wasn't quite certain what had gotten into him at the moment; maybe it was the booze, maybe the blood loss was finally catching up with him, or maybe it was Elizabeth's hands poking the flesh of his back. Whatever it was, it felt like being at a Catholic confessional with Elizabeth as his priestess, as long she remained safely out of sight and behind the wall of his back.

"Nah, I ain't that lucky," Booker said, taking another sip.

_I'm just the right kind of drunk to be stupid when I need to be plastered and passed out._

He didn't need half a bottle of whiskey; he needed a God damn case of it.

Elizabeth frowned. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because God, if He exists, is a sadistic son of a bitch, and enjoys seeing me suffer," he spat blood on the ground before the bottle returned to his lips.

Elizabeth's blue eyes widened at Booker's comment. "You have a hole in your chest, and your back, by the way" she peeked out from one of his shoulders to look at him. "Looks like a Vox cypher. I know you're irreverent and all, but…. isn't cursing God right now tempting fate?" She stated sarcastically, with the same _"are you serious?"_ expression Booker seen her wear inside the elevator down into Finkton, while he parleyed with Mr. Jeremiah Fink, himself, over the phone about an impromptu "job interview."

Elizabeth's face was so close to his, he could feel her breath like a warm strike across his face. Booker craned his neck back, staring into the depths of those gorgeous baby blues. _Careful little priestess, don't stick your fingers in the tiger's cage unless you want bitten. _Booker saw Elizabeth flinch once she realized how much of his personal space she had just invaded. Her cheeks turned rosy-pink in color, as she slunk back behind him. Booker wrapped his mouth around the glass bottle, his teeth made clacking noises against the sides of the glass as he gulped whiskey down like it was water.

"How can you tempt fate when you already know your soul's destination?" Booker stated bluntly, his voice was frosted with bitterness. _And a huge gaping hole in my chest isn't anything new, _he privately admitted.

Elizabeth leaned down over the side of the bench, her hand fishing inside the medical kit until she dug out a needle and thread.

"There's a bright spot in hell with my name on it, and I give not a single fuck about when I go to it." He finished, tilting his head back for another swallow. None of the sweet numbness filled his mouth. Booker looked into an empty bottle. Shit, he hadn't been paying attention to how fast he was drinking.

Elizabeth bit the thread with her teeth. "Well, maybe I _do._" She spoke quietly.

Booker raised an eyebrow, and chanced a look over his shoulder at Elizabeth. She cared about him. It was written all over her face, the pout in her mouth, the stubborn set of her delicate jaw, and her big sincere blue eyes. "You'd be the first in a _long _time," he told her sadly.

She sighed, "Well I guess that's what we have in common then."

"Oh, and what's that?" he asked.

"We're both alone."

Elizabeth's words made Booker's jaw drop straight to the floor. She was right, and he couldn't think of a single damn thing to say to make it better for her. Booker turned his head back around and let the empty whiskey bottle drop to the ground with an airy clatter. She stitched away at the wounds in his back while he returned to nursing the awful tasting health tonic in silence.

Once finished with her work, Elizabeth seized the opportunity with Booker's back still to her as a wall from his eyes to quickly put on the pieces of her attire that she had stripped off and left behind, with the sole intention of having something dry to put against her skin. She pulled up her stockings, and attached them back in place. Then she tugged on her white petticoat, her eyes trained on the muscles in Booker's back for the slightest hint that he might turn around. Elizabeth struggled into her boots, figuring she would lace them back up later. She retrieved her needle and thread, taking a deep breath; time to deal with the gaping hole in Booker's chest. Elizabeth shrank at the sound of her heels on the stone beneath her. In a short amount of time she had gotten used to moving around on quieter bare feet.

Booker had stopped his ears at the soft sounds Elizabeth made behind his back. He knew what she was doing, and flat out refused to pay any attention to it. When she walked in front of him, her heels clicking away against the pavement, he saw that she still wore his shirt. That almost made him smile; almost, but not quite. His hands dropped loosely to his sides as he looked at the needle and thread in her hands.

"Ok, this is going to be the hard part. It might take some time for me to sew it shut." She told him indicated the weeping gash across his chest.

"You do what you gotta do, and let me worry about the rest," Booker replied.

Elizabeth nodded and tentatively touched his chest, figuring out the best spot to start. She decided that she would start from the beginning and the end of the wound and work her way to the middle. Booker's eyes fluttered closed, and she began to work. This had to be painful, but he weathered her squeezing and pinching his skin with only careful intakes of breath.

"I'm sorry, if my hands are cold" she apologized.

"I'm fine," he said, without opening his eyes.

So, she pressed on. Methodically piercing the needle through his skin and pulling up the black thread. Elizabeth had no concept of how much time went by, especially with the rain droning on like the lecturing of some dry university professor, in love with his own voice. When she finally reached the middle of the wound Elizabeth firmly pressed her hand down on his pectoral muscle, the heel of her palm resting against his left nipple. She felt the beat of his heart beneath her hand, going faster than it should be, but it was strong, so she didn't worry. Elizabeth repeated the motion on the underside of the muscle testing to see whether the skin was more malleable on the top or the bottom. The underside was definitely more flexible, she decided. Elizabeth took another deep breath to steady herself as she pulled the flesh as taunt in one direction as possible to make the final stitches.

She bit the thread off with her teeth, and reached down for the medical kit. Elizabeth rooted through the white pouch until she found gauze and medical tape. When Elizabeth turned back, she saw that Booker had opened his eyes. He was staring down at his chest, now that it was neatly sown shut the wound took on a macabre appearance.

"Shit," Booker muttered as he looked at the massive amounts of black thread woven into the smooth flesh of his chest. He should be dead.

"Lift your arms," Elizabeth instructed him, and he obeyed in a strange trance. It all felt so surreal for the both of them.

She wrapped layers of gauze around Booker's chest where the worst of the damage was then bound it tight with the tape. Elizabeth then let her items fall back into the red and white bag, before she collapsed down on the bench next to him. She was so exhausted; Elizabeth just wanted to close her eyes for a while. But then, Elizabeth remembered that she was still wearing Booker's shirt. Sitting up, she grabbed her own jacket and was surprised at the reluctance she felt in putting it on.

Elizabeth couldn't explain why, but she somehow felt safer snuggled inside the over-sized garment. She could hide inside Booker's shirt, where she couldn't really do that with the blue velvet jacket. It was dry but it functioned more as a fashion accessory then something practical, which would actually keep her warm. Pouting a little, she pulled open the black shirt and easily slipped out of it. Shivering, Elizabeth pulled on the cropped jacket as quick as possible hoping that it would be enough to stop the chill in her bones. It wasn't. Elizabeth held up her arms, clutching Booker's shirt to her chest acutely aware of how indecent she must look, now that her mind slipped out of survival mode. But, she couldn't let the man wait out the wet in the damp space without a shirt no matter how embarrassed she might be.

Turning towards him Elizabeth saw that Booker had slumped back into the position she had found him in when she had come in from the rain with her load of tonics and medical supplies. Elizabeth covered a small yawn with her mouth before leaning over to tap his shoulder. Her sensitive nose picked up on the whiskey that he drank right away, but Elizabeth decided that she didn't mind it. Part of her was almost sad that the alcohol was gone, because Booker had been a lot chattier with her when he drank. He was so frustratingly distant most of the time, but she liked talking with him, even if his sense of humor was rather dark.

Booker rolled his head to the side, and opened his eyes. Elizabeth smiled for those pretty green irises, and scowling mouth, "I have your shirt."

He blinked at her.

"Sit up so I can help you put it on without ripping your stitches," Elizabeth continued giving his arm a gentle tug.

Booker released a big sigh, which to Elizabeth might mean anything and nothing. His habitual indifference made the ongoing documentary of, "Who Is Booker DeWitt?" inside her head disappointingly shallow. But, he did sit up like she asked him to. Booker stiffly held out his arms for her like some sad martyr so she could help him back into his shirt. As she did so, it finally occurred to Elizabeth that it wasn't Booker's shirt that had made her feel safe inside of it. It was him. She didn't want to wrap herself in Booker's clothes as much as she wanted him to wrap his arms around her. Elizabeth rubbed her cold nose against her arm as Booker's shirt tickled her when she pulled it down his back. She had a strong urge to wrap her arms around his chest and hug him. Elizabeth could feel her center of gravity being firmly pulled closer to him, and the fact that she had his back, in every sense of the phrase, somehow made her braver.

Did she dare?

Her stomach was doing flip flops, but Elizabeth's hands remained lightly on Booker's shoulders. And she wondered what was up with the way he had looked at her earlier, when she made her little joke about "sweeping him off his feet"? Booker seemed to be more inclined to talk to her when she was behind his back. Maybe if she asked him, he would tell her? In the end her curiosity, and thirst for camaraderie overwhelmed her nerves, and Elizabeth slipped her skinny arms around Booker's broad chest. Her hands were freezing cold against Booker's feverish skin. She pressed her face into his back with the demeanor of a cat greeting a familiar acquaintance. _Hello, don't I know you?_

At first he was as unresponsive as a board, but when Elizabeth didn't let go she felt Booker's rigid back muscles slowly relax into her embrace, his hands lightly touched her arms that squeezed his chest. Elizabeth breathed in the scent of blood and gun powder, as she molded more of herself against him. He was so warm, and she was so cold. Elizabeth could faintly hear her teeth chatter together as she trembled. It felt heavenly when Booker started rubbing her arms and hands, thawing them. The rough, calloused texture of his hands pushed back the long sleeves of her jacket and tenderly gripped her chilled skin.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, enjoying Booker's warmth as it slowly seeped into her, and the tingling sensation she just felt when his thumb brushed pass the underside of her wrist. Elizabeth squirmed, thinking that she would warm up faster if her chest was pressed into his skin. Unwilling to take her arms out of Booker's skillful hands, Elizabeth quickly nudged his shirt upwards with her face and teeth before ducking underneath it like a tent to rest against him, skin to skin. With the exception of her corset of course, which at the present moment, Elizabeth couldn't quite decide whether she hated the garment between them, or to be grateful for the barrier it created.

She felt Booker's strong frame shudder in her embrace. Elizabeth smiled into his spine. It was good to know that she wasn't the only one feeling nervous all of a sudden. She nuzzled her cheek against the roughness of an old scar on his shoulder blade, when he cupped both of her hands in his and blew. Elizabeth's hands were bathed in Booker's hot breath. That made everything in her body tighten, and then he did it again. If she had been less self-conscious Elizabeth might have moaned, but instead only her breath hitched in her throat.

How could she feel so scared and yet completely safe at the same time?

Elizabeth didn't think that was possible, but that's what she was experiencing all the same. Her books never mentioned this…overwhelming feeling that was starting to fill her heart to bursting. Oh, sure she had breezed through a few supposedly "scandalous romance novels." Whenever one had accidently snuck in between the huge tomes of scientific texts Songbird brought her during his visits, but in every single one of them the details of how a man and a woman should be together were disappointingly missing. Most of the time when she got to the "they stared longingly into each other's eyes and kissed deeply" parts, Elizabeth would find her hand reaching up to cover her face from embarrassment than moving it down to stroke the soft, sensitive parts between her thighs in titillation.

Is that what she wanted?

Elizabeth sheepishly pushed a cold nose against Booker's back, as she suddenly blushed. No, there was something more to it than that. It wasn't about instant gratification, although Elizabeth's heart was beating faster against Booker's scarred skin faster than she had ever rubbed her hand against herself. This also wasn't some passing romantic fantasy either, Booker's upper body was mummified in white gauze soaking up the blood from the dangerously deep wound in his chest, and she probably looked like a drowned rat. They were in a dark alley with the scent of fear and rain all around, not some bedroom with rose petals scattered everywhere.

Yet, something was happening between them. Elizabeth felt it in her bones, whether she was ready for it or not. She studiously gazed at the old scars that marred Booker's back; they were not pretty to look at. The man had sparse hair on his chest and back, which made the vicious looking marks that blemished his skin even more pronounced. Booker was a haunted man. A guilty man, but she clung to him like symbiotic moss growing on an old, gnarled tree.

Booker was ornery and crass; a gambler, a killer, and so…warm. During their time together in Columbia Elizabeth had fiercely tried to put words to describe Booker Dewitt, so she could safely categorize him like she would one of her books, and failed at it every time. He was a flesh, and blood person, not a story. Whenever they had the chance to safely cat nap without being shot at, Elizabeth sometimes heard him moaning in his sleep. Booker had nightmares; Elizabeth had once seen his dark eyelashes flutter as fast as he pulled the trigger on his gun while she watched over him as he rested. Elizabeth became so worried for him that she kicked him awake with the toe of her boot. Most people would have cursed her for being woken up like that, but once the wildness died down in his eyes Booker looked up at her with gratitude. What drama played out behind Booker's eyes, Elizabeth could only guess at. Wounded Knee? His time as a Pinkteron? Slate? Maybe be all of it, or maybe Booker saw even worse scenarios in his sleep than what actually occurred in the waking world.

He was a broken man, but still good, she thought.

A fine tremor vibrated through Elizabeth's body when she placed the plush surface of her mouth against Booker's bare skin. She rubbed her soft lips against the rough landscape of flesh and muscle. Somehow Booker had become her friend, and while her relationship with him was complicated Elizabeth actually felt like she had a choice with where it went. Her heart skipped a beat when something moist and malleable caressed each of her hands that trailed hot kisses down her small wrists.

Was it a message?

Elizabeth wondered with an open mouth. Could they be more than friends?

Small children have the penchant for randomly putting things in their mouths, in order to discover what they are. Elizabeth had no words for the sweet ache that made her body shiver against the man in front of her. So, Elizabeth felt like she was doing the same thing. _Who are you to me?_ She asked, with her tongue tentatively darting out to taste the salt of Booker's skin.

Her knuckles were pressed against Booker's mouth, which was partially open. Elizabeth licked him again below his shoulders. _Who am I to you? _She felt a finger disappear into the hot, wet space of Booker's mouth. _Do you feel like I feel?_ She ran her tongue lower, sucking Booker's skin in her mouth with sudden intakes of breath. Elizabeth lost another finger, a sweet and silent answer.

Elizabeth didn't know what she was doing. She had never kissed anyone on the mouth let alone a man's back. But, she put the thought out of her mind, and did what she wanted. Whatever instinct urged her to do she did. Her lips traversed over his spine. Elizabeth's mouth paused there for a moment, hovering over Booker's skin, as she made a quiet feminine gasp. _Yes….more of that, _she thought breathlessly when his tongue glided between the webbing of her fingers, hot and wet. She dipped her head lower, eating up inches of skin down Booker's back closer and closer to his belt. Elizabeth unpeeled herself from him with a wet sucking sound, and lay down on her belly to increase her reach. She tried unsuccessfully to nip at his tail bone, tasting the different texture of Booker's skin now that her mouth had begun to just reach the fuzzier part of him that had body hair. Slithering forward, Elizabeth ate the flesh around Booker's side while he simultaneously sucked on her fingers slowly moving them in and out of his mouth.

She felt his teeth lightly graze across her knuckles, while he switched his attention to her other hand. Booker's lips captured her fingertips while his wet, strong tongue stroked them, inviting further exploration into his warm mouth. Elizabeth's breath was gradually becoming heavier, there was definitely a subliminal message inside the back and forth motion of her fingers going in and out of Booker's mouth. Elizabeth had a theory on what that might be with each little breath she exhaled. A hand was free to touch him now, although Elizabeth wasn't exactly sure where she'd put it. She wanted something to hold on to. Elizabeth hooked her finders around the edge of Booker's belt loops, pulling herself forward towards him. She was all tongue and teeth, as her heart thundered wildly inside her breast; Elizabeth moved her mouth around the crest of Booker's right hip, and bit down. She practically purred when she heard a desperate gasp escape Booker's mouth. Elizabeth wiggled her upper body under his arm; the large bulge of his arousal stiffly poked her in the small of her back. Elizabeth left light pecks around his lower abdomen as she squirmed. Her face was still pressed against his flesh, but once she felt settled in his arms Elizabeth raised her eyes, peeking up at Booker in anticipation.

_Fuck me._

The thought came to him as both a frustrated curse and a wanton desire. Booker knew he was done for once he felt Elizabeth sink her teeth around his hip. Or was it when he felt her hardened nipples press through the fabric of her corset into his back? It didn't really matter now. Elizabeth had slunk around his midsection like a flexible cat, and she lay there in his lap with her damp hair tickling his stomach, staring up at him with heavy lidded bedroom eyes. She shouldn't have been able to look at him like that.

When Elizabeth had first wrapped her arms around him, her cold hands touching his chest alarm bells should have been going off in his head, but they didn't. She was shaking so badly, and seemed so miserable Booker was half tempted to take off his shirt and give it to her again just to make her feel better. But, he hadn't minded her hugging him. Booker didn't see any harm in the girl trying to stay warm. It wasn't like he could easily reach around and grope her, so he didn't say anything. He was such a liar, Booker mused scornfully. He could think up a million excuses to justify what he _knew _would happen if his hands were free. It didn't take long at all for him to pounce on those rail thin arms and small hands, manipulating them like he would her entire body.

Booker kissed the back of her tiny hand, watching Elizabeth's reaction when he slowly moved his mouth around her wrist. He didn't need to hear her gasp, not yet anyway, to know it was happening. Each little exhale of breath she made was a blow of heat across his stomach. Booker shifted a little, his pants were _very_ uncomfortable.

_Just one kiss?_ Booker thought, licking the palm of her hand before slipping her fingers into his mouth, sucking, making sure to hug each slender digit with his tongue, even the pinky with the thimble. He should stop right now, he knew better than this. Booker never kissed a woman he didn't mean to bed, well back in the day anyway, before he had become a solitary creature. Better not, Booker concluded pulling her fingers out of his mouth and dropping her hand. Elizabeth didn't take her appendage back, but cupped his cheek instead; flesh and metal brushing across the stubble on his chin in the lightest touches with her fingers.

Booker slipped both of his hands inside Elizabeth's jacket firmly placing them on her narrow shoulders, pulling her up so she sat across his lap. Whenever someone treated him gently, he always wanted to respond with force. Booker didn't know why, it was like he was cursed to always manifest the emotion completely opposite of what folks expected of him. _I shouldn't be doing this,_ was the last coherent thought Booker had before he put one hand on the nape of Elizabeth's neck to guide her face towards the inevitable. The kiss happened fast, because she had met him half way, and that pleased him. Booker moved his lips and tongue over the silky surface of Elizabeth's mouth, slowly coaxing her lips open.

Her mouth parted, just the tiniest bit, and Booker flicked the tip of his tongue over it, teasing. Elizabeth made an endearing little noise, a very quiet gasp. When she sucked in a breath of air he passed his tongue over her lips with a generous lick, giving her no respite. Booker anticipated that he was going to really enjoy getting a lot more sounds out of her. Her mouth was opening wider now under the patient, sensual ministrations of his lips. Booker took in a deep breath, she smelled really good, like a flower he couldn't remember the name of. His tongue descended into Elizabeth's waiting mouth without hesitation. He dipped it in and out, moving across the roof of her mouth before stroking it across her own tongue. She tasted really good too, Booker thought sliding his tongue underneath hers rousing it awake as if to say, _wanna play?_

The tip of Elizabeth's tongue touched his own tentatively at first, but under Booker's guidance their mouths fell into a rhythm. She was adventurous and learned fast, once Elizabeth understood how he did things, her kisses became bolder and flowed more easily. The movement of her lips was similar to when Booker put her fingers in his mouth. Elizabeth moved his tongue around, sucking, exploring, caressing. _Mhhhmmm, _Booker had vibrated against her lips encouragingly, placing one hand around the arch of her back, and the other on her stomach.

Elizabeth seized his face in both of her hands, rocking her body forward to deepen the kiss. Her tongue was wet and demanding in his mouth and it gave Booker a heady rush of adrenaline. They were both equally starved for physical affection, and they drank in each others breath in greedy gulps.

Booker was really starting to favor those wild, but oh so slow movements Elizabeth made with her sweet lips over his mouth. He let out a soft grunt as his fingers toyed with the laces at the back of Elizabeth's corset when he hungrily dominated her tongue with his own for a moment. He never imagined it could be this way with her. Their mutual attraction to one another and the sensual ferocity in how she kissed him took his breath away. _Christ, _inside Booker's own mind, he was already buried deep inside of her sex and coming hard.

Booker had a fist full of Elizabeth's dress in his hand, when she turned her body completely around to straddle him, her dress and petticoat bunching up around her thighs. It was like she had read his mind, he mused, eagerly slipping a hand up her dress. The moan she made when Booker's hand touched the outside of her satin panties got his blood up and made it rush straight to his groin. With their mouths still engaged with one another, Booker cupped the moist place between Elizabeth's thighs, his fingers kneading the shape of her through the thin fabric. Unthinking, Elizabeth's hips jutted forward when Booker rubbed his hand against her. Her mouth fell away with a groan, and Booker dipped his head to the side of her slender neck. He wouldn't touch her skin, not yet.

Booker stroked his tongue over her pale, cool skin, his lips, and stubble dragging down her neck. _So soft…_he thought tasting the salt and sweet of her flesh. His large hand slowly passed over her sex continuing all the way down until he reached her firm behind with long curious fingers. Booker brought his lips back to Elizabeth's open mouth, dipping his tongue inside as her eyelids closed shut in ecstasy. She was a bit more passive when she kissed him back now, being swept up in the building sensations that were shooting up her groin. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him, her perky breasts pressed into is chest.

His tongue slid out of her mouth just as another sweet little moan made Elizabeth's breath more ragged. Booker moved his hand against the satin fabric a little faster, watching her hips pitch forward. She was a tiny thing, but Elizabeth was perfectly proportioned. She curved just right in the places where a woman should, and watching her writhe against him with the white column of her vulnerable throat tipped back in abandon she didn't look like a girl at all. She looked delicious, and the sight of her made Booker's heart pound inside his chest.

Unconsciously, Booker pressed his hand harder against her, his fingers seeking the opening of her lips even though it wasn't time for that just yet. He buried his face in Elizabeth's chest, moving his mouth feverishly over the soft skin there. His tongue made a wet line across the low cut neckline of Elizabeth's corset. She opened her eyes to watch him. Her big blue eyes were dark and sultry, and Booker met them with a heated gaze of his own, pleased to see her blush. Booker never took his eyes off her, when he made another lick across her breast in a white hot line. Elizabeth's face reddened, but she didn't look away. Booker did it again, this time nipping at the lace of her corset with his teeth, flicking his tongue down the narrow cleft of her breast bone. She giggled when he did that, the creamy flesh shaking lightly under his lips.

The neckline was really low, and Booker saw that it was barely above Elizabeth's areolas when he looked down. If he unfastened a clasp or two, he could fill his mouth with all that flesh. His free hand was already unhooking the first clasp before the thought had even fully formed in his head. Click and kiss. Elizabeth gasped. Booker's roaming tongue dipped further into the garment, her left breast in his hand was soft and his fingers rubbed the point where her nipple pressed through. He tried to get to the sensitive bud with his tongue, but was unsuccessful. Just one more hook.

_Just one more card game._

_Just one more bet._

_Just one more drink._

_Just one more kiss._

Just, just, just…click.

When Elizabeth's breasts were free, Booker fondled them with his free hand. His fingers tugged on a large pink nipple, making her gasp and her eyes shut tight. He stroked her sex faster, feeling her warmth through the fabric of her underwear now. Booker took her small perfect breasts in his mouth hungrily, kissing, licking, sucking, and taking care to pay attention to each silken mound of warm flesh. Booker swirled his tongue around a hard nipple. He found himself lost in Elizabeth's skin gasping for air with his own hips jutting forward. He wanted to hear that noise now, the sound she made when she had laughed at him and turned his perception of her upside down. Booker rubbed the space between Elizabeth's thighs harder, aching to be inside of her.

Elizabeth grabbed fistfuls of Booker's shirt, and grinded faster against his hand in spite of herself. When she felt the brush of his fingertips against the edge of her panties, her heart stopped. It didn't start again until his hand slipped inside the damp undergarment. She moaned, grinding her sex against him just as much as Booker was rubbing it for her.

Booker skillfully played with her down below, taking his time in parting her lips. His fingers massaged her opening in slow circles, feeling her grow wetter and wetter with each pass. He circled his tongue around a nipple, mirroring what his hand was doing to her sex. When Elizabeth bit into his neck, he pushed a finger inside her. Booker moved it in and out slowly stretching the molten, wet skin that surrounded it, before slipping a second finger into her. The walls of her sex gripped his digits like a vice as her hips moved faster, her breathing coming in quick rapid gasps.

_So fucking tight…_Booker thought as he increased the pressure and depth of his fingers the more Elizabeth moaned. He grabbed her by the hair, taking a fistful of the damp tresses pulling her head back. Booker placed his lips across her throat just below the brooch at her neck. When she came he wanted to feel it vibrating against his mouth as well as hear it.

Her nipples pressed into him, as Elizabeth molded herself to his embrace and his hand. She had a steady rhythm going and Booker felt his hand getting wetter. The little nub of her sensitive clitoris had finally poked out of her hood, and was rubbing against the rough palm of his hand as he fucked her harder and faster with his fingers. Booker lustfully imagined how it was going to feel when he finally pushed his cock further and harder into her tight hot flesh.

The small of Elizabeth's back was arching, and goose bumps cascaded all over her body in waves when her climax hit her. Booker felt the blood pulsing underneath the thin skin of her neck with his lips, and her voice box vibrated against his whole face. _She moans so beautifully…_Booker licked her neck with a quick flick of his warm tongue, as he felt her small frame shudder in his arms.

Insatiable, Booker looked forward to the sounds she would make when he _really_ started to work on her, he mused capturing Elizabeth's mouth with his own. He slowly withdrew his soaking wet hand from Elizabeth's underwear, pushing the garment aside as far as it would go and held it there. Booker didn't need any more encouragement, but her tongue inside his mouth drove him crazy and he wanted inside her _now._

His mind worked at light speed, with a quick adjustment here and there, his member would be free of those damn pants and buried hilt deep into Elizabeth as she impaled herself on him. Booker's free hand was on his belt buckle, the metal click of it unhooking was a poignant sound that cut through the silence when Elizabeth broke their kiss, whispering "tell me what to do."

He froze in mid-motion like a deer startled in the brush.

_Shit._

Booker had conveniently forgotten that Elizabeth was a virgin. When her mouth grappled with his, she had learned to kiss him so expertly, so fast that he forgot himself. The things she did with her tongue in his mouth were unholy, and he had known a few lusty ladies back in the day that could have taken notes from Elizabeth. Booker had underestimated just how fast she could get his blood up.

Even so, Elizabeth was still a blank slate in his arms, and that made Booker extremely uncomfortable. He had never been with a virgin, even his own wife wasn't one when he had taken her to his bed. All the women he had ever known were experienced, and that had suited him just fine. Sexually speaking, Booker was a well groomed animal. He enjoyed the chase and the agonizing buildup of tension it brought, he could fan the flames of a woman's desire in measured moves while he explored and learned the body of his partner. He could be slow, and sensuous, taking his time with what he did. Stamina had never been an issue with him. He was passionate, and he was skilled, but no one had ever taught him to be gentle.

Experienced partners that knew all the little nuances and quirks of the sex act, and its myriad expressions could be safely handled without the want of explanations. Usually it was married ladies that were bored to tears with their own husbands handling them like fragile flowers who tended to gravitate towards Booker DeWitt. He was altogether handsome in his own rugged way, and sometimes it only took a single glance at his broad shoulders and careless loping stride that drove women to make a bee-line for his bed.

When he _did_ have sex, which became less and less over the years as a bottle of alcohol drunk in solitude became his mistress, Booker was a generous lover and he enjoyed the act because it was something he did well without having to justify or wonder why he was doing it. Pain and pleasure went hand in hand for him of course, but it was always mutually consensual, _barely_. The women he had slept with knew they were taking something volatile into their beds, a lion, and they would get teeth and claws just as well as his tongue. He could be a tease, thinking of all kinds of ways to rile a woman up, but that wasn't the same as being gentle. And once Booker's blood was up, he took whatever he wanted, however he wanted it,_ never _asking for permission, and didn't stop until one of them couldn't walk.

Even though his lovemaking had some finesse to it, in the end he was greedy and unrepentant, a bastard. Booker loved to hear the sound of a woman orgasm. The more often he heard that sound, the tight collar Booker had on his emotions got a little looser. An orgasm from a woman functioned as a subconscious signal to take off his albatross of guilt, and get lost for a while. Booker DeWitt's desires ran well on the darker side of the emotional spectrum. A woman in his hands was well satisfied and full of regret. With women Booker would please them until the sun came up, but when it came to _his _pleasure, when his self-control finally broke and he took from them whatever happened to be his fancy for the day they would leave weeping and curse him. He was a well-trained beast indeed, and probably best partnered with the occasional lust filled curious house wife, who felt the call of the wild and wanted to mate with something dangerous for once in her life. Much to his own shame, Booker was dangerous even when it came to acts of pleasure. After all, his wife _did_ die because of him. She became a lion's bride, and lost her life in the process trying to birth the inevitable result of his insatiable appetites.

With the death of his wife and child over the years Booker had gotten to the point where psychologically, his self-hatred would never allow himself to believe that he deserved any pleasure. Simply put, a man's pleasure over time would eventually lead to offspring, which can lead to the death of the woman trying birth the issue of that man's pleasure. So for Booker, even in a mutually consensual act that is meant to bring physical and emotional gratification there was the possibility of him killing someone. Small wonder why he preferred the company of a bottle. Because of his guilt when it came to matters of sex, women came to Booker because they wanted to be truly and thoroughly fucked, not loved….never loved.

It had been a long time since Booker did either, and the exquisite woman-child in his arms was a banquet in the eyes of the starved, restless thing that lived inside his troubled heart. He wanted to take a long look at her body, but it was her big blue eyes he needed to stare at now. Booker's face was close to hers, their lips touching but engaging in nothing more. He felt her warm breath on his skin. There was a fierce desire in those beautiful blue irises flecked with gold, but was it love or lust? In her face he saw that Elizabeth didn't know exactly what her feelings were either, her desire was still maturing inside the cocoon of her heart. It hadn't chosen what it wanted to be yet.

For a moment Booker imagined the Lueteces perched on his shoulders whispering to him like some bitterly ironic Shakespearean angel and devil.

Love or lust? The bird or the cage?

Booker searched the depths of Elizabeth's eyes with growing fear, because he did not know which hurt more. If he took in her in lust she would hate him. If he took her in love she would hate him even more. Lust would be safer, love was too dangerous; for love would always learn the importance of lust, but lust never guarantees love.

If Booker did this he would hurt her, and the fact that it only took the sound of a single orgasm from Elizabeth to break him down to the point where the manifestation of his own needs came bursting out of his skin disturbed him. Her body would not welcome him, it would bleed and struggle with pain, but Booker knew that her heart would accept him. Elizabeth would ultimately come to him for love, and she deserved to be with someone who knew how to take her gently both in body and in soul. Elizabeth was innocent because she couldn't know any of this. If he continued on this path he would physically hurt her, and if that wasn't enough she would unwittingly, inevitably take him into her heart. The realization made Booker want to die. The lamb had forgotten to hate him and chose instead to place its neck in the jaws of the lion, blissfully unaware of how close she was to death.

Booker did not want her to love him.

Even though the nerves in his body screamed at him, and threw angry temper tantrums like a two year old child, Booker made himself remove his hand out from underneath Elizabeth's dress, where he had plunged his long fingers into that sweet, wet spot between her legs only moments ago. Booker would never be able to purge that memory from his mind no matter how much he drank. A tornado of raw lust had ripped off that door; he could only hope he was strong enough to keep himself from running through the doorway.

Shaking, Booker snapped the eyelets closed on the front of Elizabeth's corset. His fingers worked slowly and not nearly as dexterous as when he undid them. He bid her firm, perky breasts, a sad farewell, wanting to run his tongue over the silken texture of them just one more time.

_One more drink?_

No, he had to say no, or they'd both be sorry.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked him looking lost and confused, and oh, so fuck-able.

Booker groaned, grabbing his face with both hands. He knew the question was coming, and it was harder and a thousand times more complicated to answer than when she had asked him how to get over becoming a murderer, after stabbing Fitzroy to death with a pair of scissors.

_Nothing at all, other than the small issue of blue-balling myself trying to protect your innocence…_

"Get up," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Why? Why did you stop?" she persisted, starting to sound concerned. He felt the barest touch of her fingers on his arms.

_God…_Booker thought guiltily. She had him so wound up right now, and what made it worse was that Elizabeth had no idea what her nearness did to him.

Or did she?

With the removal of his hand, she had settled herself on his erection. He could feel the warmth of Elizabeth's sex seeping down to him even though his pants, sweet and torturous. Booker could feel her shifting on top of him, acutely reminded that his belt buckle remained undone and the only things between them were pieces of fabric.

Booker took a deep breath in effort to calm himself. He inhaled her scent. Bad idea….

His arms dropped limply to his sides, curled his hands into tight fists, tension and frustration gently making his masculine frame tremble.

"I don't want you to stop," Elizabeth told him breathlessly. Her small fingers wiggled against his hands, trying to sneak in between the crevasses and pry them open.

"I won't say this again, Elizabeth. _GET UP_." Booker softly hissed at her through clenched teeth. His anger was palpable, but it wasn't her he was pissed at.

Whatever facial expression he might have on, Booker didn't know, but whatever she saw in his eyes startled her into action. Elizabeth moved off his lap, and quickly tugged down the bunched up petticoat and dress, covering herself. When he felt nothing but empty space, and his throbbing member Booker rose to his feet, and began to pace like a nervous animal. He couldn't emotionally distance himself and find his poker face with his erection awkwardly and obviously poking out of his pants.

Elizabeth crossed her arms, and leaned back on a wall watching him. They were perfect opposites in that moment. Her petite frame was a calm and steady silhouette, while Booker's shadow never stayed in one spot. It flickered, changing shapes in the dim light, lean and hungry.

"I don't understand," she finally said, breaking the awful silence that had separated them.

"Why are you so angry when we both want the same thing?"

"I didn't tell you to stop; I didn't want you to stop. I still don't." Elizabeth added with quiet bravery.

Walking wasn't helping damn it, Booker noted as he tried in vain to tame his sexual frustration. Of course it didn't help that every time he looked at Elizabeth, he kept seeing himself grab her, press her down against the bench, rip off her underwear and take her so hard and fast that her flesh would ooze through the thin spaces between the bench's wood planks.

He'd kill anyone who would dare do her physical harm; he could tell leering strangers to go fuck themselves, and literally set fire to anybody who would try to take her back to her tower on Monument Island. But, dear God, how the fuck can he save her from himself? Booker had already decided that he wasn't going to take her to New York before he made a play for her physical affections. The fact was she had grown on him the more time they spent together. The more shit that hit the fan, the more they were cemented together as friends. You don't hand your friends over to shady employers to cancel your debts, and the pureness of her loyalty had become more reliable than his trusty shot gun, and she certainly was better company than a bottle of whiskey. But, he had to go and muck up their vulnerable friendship like everything else in his life. Booker wanted her so bad it made him sick to his stomach and rock hard in his pants. But did he want to fuck her or make love to her? How could he watch over her, if he couldn't trust himself not to do inappropriate things with her?

_Shit, I'm just as confused as she is._

As the older person with more life experiences that didn't set well with Booker at all.

"You don't know what you're asking of me," he managed to blurt out.

Elizabeth gave Booker one of her scrunched up "what the hell?" faces, before she blinked, and pushed her lower lip forward in a sardonic pout.

"Hmmm, I thought what was happening between us was rather obvious. I'm inexperienced Booker, not stupid." She retorted calmly, even though she wasn't one hundred percent sure if she was ready to have sex.

"I never said you were stupid, Elizabeth. But your inexperience can make you dangerously naïve," Booker replied, turning his head over his shoulder to talk to her. Talking to her with his stubborn hard on jutting out of his paints made him feel like a fool, so when he wasn't pacing he gave her his back.

"I thought you wanted me," she said softly with a little tremor in her voice.

Her words hit Booker's back as cruelly as the lash of a whip.

_I do. That's the problem._

He had placed his bets on the assumption that Elizabeth wouldn't be interested in him in a romantic way, and lost. Then he stupidly gambled that there was no way she could easily turn him on being an inexperienced girl, wrong again.

"It doesn't matter what I want. It doesn't change the fact that it's wrong" Booker stated harshly. He wished someone would come along and shoot at them, just so he could fucking think straight again.

"Then tell me why it's wrong?" Elizabeth could hear anger creeping into her voice as she talked to him. The more Elizabeth thought about it, the angrier she got, she had just started to peel off the final shell Booker had walled around himself and he had ruined it.

"And don't even think about trying to give me a self-righteous excuse, like a "no sex before marriage" sermon because we both know perfectly well how pious you are."

Booker took in a deep breath. "Look, Elizabeth all you have ever known is a life of solitary confinement. So any physical affection is going to feel good to you, and I am flattered that you would be interested in me. But, whatever you may feel about me in a romantic sense, it ain't genuine."

The hush in the space between them was thick with tension, the only sounds being the pitter patter of rain and incessant droning of the automan machine. Booker was half afraid to look back at Elizabeth. He didn't know how he would react to what he saw, but her silence bothered him. It was hard to know what she was thinking without watching her expressive face. Booker turned half way around, making his profile visible, momentarily not caring about the embarrassing tightness in his pin stripe trousers. The look on Elizabeth's face was angrier and filled with more sorrow than when she hit him over the head with a wrench when she first caught on that he wasn't taking her to Paris.

"Don't presume to tell me what I am feeling Mr. DeWitt."

_Shit. _He really pissed her off now, but Booker liked it better when she hated him. It made things less complicated.

"I don't need you to think for me. I don't need you to make choices for me," Elizabeth continued; her voice silky soft but edged with blades.

Booker brushed a lock of his hair back, "and nine times out of ten I'd absolutely agree with you on that, but not in this."

"I know what sex is Booker, and I already knew what an orgasm felt like before you touched me," she said with a sigh, fighting the blush of red that wanted to come to her cheeks. She was an adult damn it.

"Yeah, from books, and trust me when I tell you that no story or definition will ever give you the truth of it," Booker responded quickly, trying to banish the mental picture of her masturbating.

Elizabeth hated to admit it, but he had her there. She had never experienced anything like what he did to her. Any curious or bored rubbing against the sensitive place between her legs whenever she woke up restless felt _nothing_ like his hand, and any pleasure derived from it paled in comparison. She _never_ thought of using her fingers before. Booker showed her that fingers were important, and Elizabeth loved learning to kiss, she never wanted that to stop, and when she wanted to feel the touch of his mouth and hands all over her body, he went and did it, almost like reading her mind. Why settle for walking when you could ride a Skyline? But, the best part was she knew there was more, why stop in the middle when it already felt amazing? All she needed was a little guidance, here and there; the rest could be learned just like kissing, right?

Elizabeth unfolded her arms, and slid a foot forward away from the wall. Booker took a giant stride back.

"I know. I just want you to show me…."she began.

"No," Booker replied through clenched teeth.

They both simultaneously wondered why the other was being so stubborn.

A lump was forming in Elizabeth's throat, "You're already inside my head, why not my body?"

_Because you'll let me inside your heart; maybe not the first time or the second, but you will because you are a kind soul, and then you'll see how much of a monster I am._

That was the crux of it. That was why he couldn't allow it to happen, because if he did Booker wasn't sure if he could live with himself. Their friendship was growing inside a crucible of chaos, but it was tenuous, and he didn't want to fuck it up anymore. She kept giving him second chances, and he was afraid of the reason why.

"I am not going to talk about this anymore with you," was all he managed to say.

Elizabeth continued chasing Booker around in circles trying to get close to him, while he out stepped and evaded her.

"Oh, I see how it is. You can talk me through murdering Daisy Fitzroy, but not this?" she said spitefully.

"That's different."

"No! It is not!" Elizabeth yelled at him, her mouth quivering as she struggled to hold in her tears.

"I can be covered in blood, and you don't so much as blink an eye, but when I want you to take my clothes off you balk?" A stifled sob escaped Elizabeth's mouth. She didn't know what she wanted, what she was saying, all she knew was this all-consuming feeling of pain in her breast. It was so sharp and brutal, she was shaking. She was honest and direct with her thoughts and feelings because she didn't know any other way to be. Elizabeth was trying so hard to be an adult about the situation. She knew that rejection was a part of life, and if she couldn't keep herself together over it, maybe Booker was right about her after all.

A hot tear ran down her cheek, as Booker walked up to her.

He got as close as he dared to Elizabeth without tempting himself to touch her.

"I _will_ hurt you," Booker whispered. Not a might be, not an accidentally, but a heart crushing fact.

"I've got enough blood on my hands. I don't need you to add yours to it." His gruff voice sounded so tender. Elizabeth looked up at him, and her vision was blurry from the tears that were trapped in her long dark eyelashes.

"So, don't you cry for me," Booker seethed emotionally. He stepped closer to her, their bodies almost touching.

Booker pointed his right index finger at Elizabeth's face, his open shirt whispering by her as he barely brushed against her as he passed. "Don't you dare."

Elizabeth watched him move away from her with a bittersweet ache in her heart.

"Where are you going?"

_I don't know, _Booker thought; his chest aching not from the physical pain of his injury, but under the heavy burden of guilt.

"I need some air," he answered her.

Booker walked up the short steps in easy strides, and when he was at the mouth of the alleyway entrance his well-built physique was framed by cold gray fog.

"You know I don't believe you," Elizabeth called out, sniffling.

"I don't believe that you'll hurt me."

Booker had devils inside him for sure, and he never had a moment's respite from the guilt and self-loathing those monsters brought, but he was still good; still worth saving. Couldn't he see that? Elizabeth wondered in frustration.

A crack of thunder and lightning sizzled through the air behind Booker, ominously.

"You should." He called back, before stepping into the rain storm and out of sight.

Booker walked away from the shelter with his head down. The ice cold sheets of rain that hit his body like bullets of water should have cooled him off. It didn't. His groin was still screaming at him, hard and loaded to bear.

_Goddammit._

Booker hated it when the nature of his gender caused his libido to ride him like a demon. Men and women had their own nuances that came with their sex. There were some women who would sadly never experience an orgasm if they were unlucky in partners or most importantly too shy or prude to touch themselves and figure out how their own bits worked. But, they did have the advantage of being inconspicuous. At least when a woman was aroused she didn't have her appendage poking out like a God damn sign. Men were hard wired to respond at the slightest possible indication of reciprocated sexual interest, and remain persistently so until satisfied.

Maybe being able to more easily get themselves off was the consolation prize for such hair trigger responses, Booker thought to himself bitterly as he pressed his back into a marquee in the middle of the path, with his hand slipping down his pants. He paid no attention to the friendly green sign ahead of him welcoming him to the Emporia gondola station, where he and Elizabeth must eventually go in order to progress to the next step in their hellish journey to escape Columbia.

_Elizabeth…_

Booker thought with his erection finally springing free from his pants, as he began to slowly stroke himself. He should be going faster just to be done with the whole business, but he couldn't. One he enjoyed pleasure too much to rush it, and two he was using his left hand. Booker's right hand was bandaged from a rather unpleasant knife wound he received in Battleship Bay, and he only wanted to feel flesh around his swollen member. It helped with the fantasy in his head, as he lightly stroked the thin skin with his fingertips. Booker didn't try to stop or deny his thoughts about the wet, waiting woman-child he wasn't going to be having sex with, not while doing this, he'd feel guilty about it later, but for now he let his mind wonder where it may.

Booker's mind decided to pick up where he left off, before he decided not to plunge his dick into her hot cunt. The crude word floated into his head while he stroked himself, and Booker felt himself swell bigger. He would never call her that truly, but maybe she would surprise him one day and ask him to. Elizabeth surprised him with how well she kissed. Had he chosen not to stop what they were doing, Booker would have freed his member and shuddered deliciously at the first wet touch of her lips. He would have led Elizabeth to rub her sex against the length of him just like he had fucked her with his fingers.

Booker sucked in a ragged breath, imagining how the tight opening of Elizabeth's sex would glide up his shaft and tease the tip of his head before sliding back down. He would want to buck his hips forward and take her, but he would resist. Instead, he would take his thumb and rub slow, leisurely circles around her sensitive nub. Booker licked his own hand, and moved his thumb in circles over his throbbing head; he didn't feel the needles of the rain anymore.

Booker would work her clitoris for as long as it took to get her excited again, while she teased him with her wet, sweet lips. He would make Elizabeth climax, and he would bury his teeth into the soft flesh of her breasts when she shook in his arms. Booker's grip around his girth tightened, as he moved his hand up and down just a little faster. Eyes still closed, he slid down to the cold hard ground.

He imagined Elizabeth taking him in her delicate hand, guiding him towards where her lips parted, where she would be dripping wet and hot. Booker's breath hitched in his throat. He would seize the garters of her stockings and bury himself inside her, tip to base in one stroke. Booker squeezed the base of his cock harder. Her little white legs would wrap around his waist, and he would stand up still buried inside her. Booker moved his hand a bit faster.

He would crash their bodies onto the bench, while he moved in and out of her hard and deep. The wood would bite whatever tender flesh of hers that was exposed. Booker panted at the thought. He would dig his fingers through the laces of Elizabeth's corset and use it as leverage to move her body into his while he jack knifed into her at the same time, Booker could almost hear the sound of her heels clicking against the bench as she would struggle underneath him. And if she managed to find a rhythm in the midst of his violence and please herself that would be sweet. But, that never happens. There were good reasons why he was so skilled with his hands and mouth, because once inside a woman, his partners would be too busy trying to breathe let alone feel any pleasure during actual intercourse.

Booker sucked in gasps of air, stroking himself as fast and rough as possible now. When he worried teeth into Elizabeth's skin to sample the warm copper taste of her blood, she would rake her finger nails across his back.

_Oh God….Elizabeth_

He now had a crushing grip on his base. Booker squeezed himself until it hurt, viciously working his hand up and down. Up and down, in and out. Elizabeth's sex would squeeze him tight, milking his cock, going faster, and harder, always harder.

And if she was a lioness instead of a lamb, and if she could read his mind, and if she fucked half as well as she kissed, when Booker made her scream she would hit him across the face as hard as she could.

_Yes…._

He would hear Elizabeth scream at him, "STOP!"

_Fuck….._

Elizabeth would hit him, and Booker would feel the metal of her thimble dig into his flesh. He'd taste his own blood in his mouth….

_FUCK._

Booker felt his orgasm surge through his hand, he hit his head back against the marquee and his mouth was wide open to drink in the cold rain. He came silently, but he came hard, feeling his semen arc from the base of his pubic bone and out of the tip of his head in a hot stream.

Booker sat on the uncomfortable ground saturated with rain water and shame.

The little lamb that waited for him thought he wouldn't hurt her; if only that were true he could let himself mean more to her. Booker would have to be a very different man than the one he was to give Elizabeth all the sweet tenderness she deserved. In other words, he would have to be someone other than himself. He couldn't give her what he didn't have. Booker's emotions were rooted in anger and guilt, and that spilled into every part of his life, including his sexuality. It had only gotten worse with time, like his addictions. Besides what would a virgin know of his needs? Even the most experienced and adventurous women never had enough snuff to treat him as roughly as he inevitably treated them. When it came to pleasure they had never left wanting, but they never came back for seconds either. Only Booker's departed wife had seemed to understand, and look what his love eventually did to her.

Booker had fucked up his life real good, and anyone that tried to get close to him. If he wasn't careful some of his entropy would rub off on Elizabeth. The way she killed Daisy Fitzroy still unnerved him. If someone was in your way, you snuffed out their life. She could have only learned that from him. Sure, she did it to save a child's life, but what about the next time? He could only hope that there wouldn't be a next time for her.

He opened his eyes, and tucked away the body part that seemed to cause him nothing but trouble. The animal was by no means slumbering, but at least it was lying down. Booker staggered to his feet, remembering that he was injured. That was another thing he didn't particularly care for about his libido, it did a great job of blind siding him and making him forget that there were still people out there that wanted to kill him. Booker had his fill of Columbia, and wanted to be done with the floating sky nightmare as quick as possible. He'd take Elizabeth to Paris, it was the least he could do. Booker still had no idea what he'd do with himself though. But, for now the lion and the lamb would walk together side by side for another day.

When Booker stumbled his way back to Elizabeth, she had to help him sit down. Once she had done that though, she left him alone. Elizabeth sat on the other end of the bench away from him, with her knees pressed against her chest, curled up into a tight ball. She peeked through the veil of her hair to glance at him. He had no idea that she had taken off her boots to follow him in silence. If Booker's eyes had ever opened he would have seen her, but they didn't. So, Elizabeth watched him pleasure himself in silence completely unaware of her presence. She could have never asked for a better explanation on how Booker felt about sex then watching him masturbate when he thought he was alone.

Elizabeth, knowing what it was like to have her privacy violated, felt a little guilty at first, but that soon dissipated as Booker went on. It was….educational. Elizabeth had realized some things that she would not have thought about, but should. Firstly, the illustrations in her anatomy books _completely_ failed in every single way possible to articulate what male genitals actually look like. Secondly, her biology books should have been a lot more specific on the mechanics of sex, vaguely implying that the penis goes inside the vagina, and then suddenly nine months later there is genetic offspring was way too obtuse. Elizabeth did not care how embarrassing it might be to spell it out, but young women had a right to know the…proportions of the male member that would be entering such a tender place. Thirdly, Booker was right, and she wanted to hug him, and kiss the rivulets of water running off his nose and chin, for stopping when he did. Fourthly, that would be a very bad idea. Which lead to her fifth realization, the amount of control Booker showed her today was not limitless. Sixth, if she didn't get a better handle on her own emotions, she was going to shoot herself in the foot. And finally, and most importantly, Elizabeth now believed him when he said he would hurt her.

So, in a strange way Booker had inadvertently given her a code book into his mind. There was something very important in the_ rawness_ of what she saw. It was not just about pleasure; not at all. Elizabeth wouldn't test him yet, she would be as cool and collected as Rosalind Lutece, and more insightful than Freud, and figure this mess out. When the possibility of them becoming sexual came up again, and it would, because she still didn't know if she wanted Booker to be her friend or her lover, she would be better prepared. However, Elizabeth knew that she would be lying to herself if she thought that there could be a romance between her and Booker. If they became more than friends for real, it wouldn't be romantic like some fluffy story, it would be something different. Elizabeth also knew that she would be emotionally safer staring into the sun, then staring into those moody cat eyes of his. But, for now they would sit there in the gray with nothing but the sound of their beating hearts for solace, pretending that nothing had happened.

* * *

Elizabeth tossed and turned on the scratchy mattress of her cell in the Comstock House Re-Education Center. It was fall, and the rain was coming down hard and fast outside in the dark. The sound of the thunder had woken Elizabeth up, making her feel nostalgic and wet between her legs.

She rubbed herself slowly, feeling her anatomy plump up, swollen with blood. Elizabeth licked her hand and her fingers moved past the soft tender flesh of her lips. Elizabeth rolled on to her stomach and glided them inside her at a steady pace trying to appease the ache she felt there.

It felt good. She was slick and trembling, but her fingers weren't as long or as wide as Booker's. Elizabeth couldn't quite manage to push them in hard enough to make her feel satisfied; she grinded herself against her small hand for a while before rolling over, whimpering in sexual frustration.

_Damn you Booker DeWitt. You've ruined me._

* * *

**AN: YAY they're doomed! :D Anyway, if you thought that was intense, it only escalates from here on out. Stay tuned for the stuff that happens next between Booker and Elizabeth, AND what happens to Elizabeth at Comstock House. For anyone who is curious about why I wrote the moment that Booker & Elizabeth experience their shift in perspective of their relationship the way I did, that shit DOES happen in real life. The moment where friends become physically attracted to one another is a sneaky one and hits like a truck. **

**In the words of Neil Gaiman in the Sandman, _"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."_  
**

** I hope all of you enjoyed it. ^_^**_  
_


	5. Chasing Ghosts

**AN: Hey, everybody! **

**I'm sorry for not updating this story sooner. I will try to be better about that in the future. This is another very long chapter filled with Booker+Elizabeth character development goodness. I hope it appeases all of you lovely people who have been patiently waiting for an update. :) Relax and enjoy watching the sparks fly.**

* * *

The silver lock that chained the Lutece lab doors closed popped off with a satisfying click as Elizabeth worked her magic on it with two hair pins. Her small hand gently pressed against the double doors and they opened for her silently on well-oiled hinges.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at Booker's familiar profile.

"There you go," she said faintly.

Booker turned towards her, bending his head in a slight dip of acknowledgement as he slung his shot gun over his shoulder. As usual he waited for her to go through the doorway first. Elizabeth was quick to oblige him as she hastily moved towards the relative safety of the lab. The fabric of her dress was suddenly disturbed in a passing gust of wind, rising as a molten river of blue velvet around her knees when she walked into the main foyer of the lab.

_How fitting, _Elizabeth mused as the cool air reached for the exposed skin of her calves.

The storm that had relentlessly baptized Emporia in gray sheets of rain had stopped a good while ago, but its dark ominous clouds still lingered in the sky. The occasional flash of forked lightening and gales of wind served as a constant reminder that it would not go quietly. The turbulent weather suited her mood perfectly.

Her skirts settled back in place once she stepped through the door way. If only her emotions could be so easily tamed, Elizabeth thought as she gravitated over to the ransacked book shelf on the right side of the lobby. As a veracious reader, she immediately frowned at the sight of all the strewn literature on the floor; the books had their pages torn and spines broken. Elizabeth reverently stepped over the mess as her eyes automatically roamed across the room looking for anything that might be useful to them. Out of the corner of her eye she stole a glance at Booker. He was predictably on the other side of the foyer, riffling through the contents of a large sprawling desk brandished with the word _LUTECE_ in bold gilded lettering.

Elizabeth swiftly returned to her own searching. She was getting really good at sneaking glances at Booker without him noticing. The trick to it was to make sure that her face was completely blank of expression whenever he looked at her; which under normal circumstances would have been extremely difficult to maintain if she hadn't been so exhausted. Her body had switched into energy conservation mode, so even the slightest physical movement that didn't have anything to do with surviving made Elizabeth feel sluggish. When she finally didn't care if Booker DeWitt knew what she was thinking about, her bone-weary body had given her the best impromptu poker face yet. Elizabeth couldn't remember the last time she had even slept properly; ever since their time in Plaza Prosperity Booker kept them moving at a grueling pace. He never let them linger for too long in one place, and she knew why.

The memory tried to fog her mind, but Elizabeth shook her head in order to dismiss it.

_Shhh,_ she whispered to that restless part of herself. _I can't think about you just yet. Mother dearest has something to show us._

Truth be told she was juggling so many conflicting thoughts and infuriating puzzles inside her head, Elizabeth feared that she might be losing her mind.

_How could she continue to avoid Songbird?_

_Just who was the Prophet, really?_

_Why was I locked up?_

_Who am I supposed to be?_

_Where do these "truths" that the twins wanted her to find fit in?_

_Was Lady Comstock really her mother?_

_How could Comstock use her own abilities against her like that?_

The questions went on endlessly inside her head like bees buzzing around a fragrant flower. She looked off to her left, and saw a whimsical globe of the earth resting inside a slender metal stand artfully made to display the object. Curious, Elizabeth reached for it. The sphere wobbled when she touched it. With a casual flick of her fingers she sent the object to spinning. Mesmerized, she watched the brown patches of continents rush by on a field of pale blue, and thought about all the places she'd probably never see.

Elizabeth mindlessly twisted the thimble on her pinky, her fingers intimately acquainted with all the dings and nicks that marred the piece of metal that had been a part of her since childhood. She had the power to go anywhere, to create worlds even, but ever since puberty the tears she opened were never stable enough to sustain themselves. When she _was_ finally out of her tower, she sure had made a fine mess of things. Elizabeth had wanted to be a revolutionary, and she unwittingly created a mindless mob that raped, looted, and killed without thought. She wanted to save the life of a child, and she became a murderer. The thought of the only companions Elizabeth had ever known also left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was trying to flee from the one without killing him, and the other? Well, Booker's body may have been physically present in the room with her, but he was so emotionally distant, he might have been in a different country.

_He was right. God is cruel_, Elizabeth reflected darkly. The most important question out of all the white noise inside her head was; did she still have the desire, the gusto, to embrace the world and live in it?

"Hey, Elizabeth," Booker called out.

Startled, she almost jumped clear out of her own skin at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. Rapidly blinking her eyes, Elizabeth's head snapped up in Booker's direction. She tore her gaze away from the slowly spinning globe.

_Good grief, how long was I staring at that thing?_

Booker stood at the back of the foyer behind the main front desk, staring at her. He simultaneously held one of the dark cherry wood doors open that lead further back into the lab. Elizabeth didn't waste any mental energy looking for emotional signs of life in Booker's face. Nothing would be there; she'd learned her lesson about that. Elizabeth kept her head down, and didn't even bother to glance up at him as she walked past and into the long hallway.

The Luteces were thoughtful decorators, Elizabeth thought, as she admired the red wall paper with subtle gold patterns embossed into its surface. There was a long, thick, red rug underneath her feet that matched the wall paper, and to her left a wooden coat rack with a hat and jacket still hanging from the pegs. Robert Luteces? She couldn't imagine it belonging to anyone else. Her blue eyes fell on the carpeted stair case that was directly to her right, and a chill unexpectedly crawled down her spine. Elizabeth barely noticed the photographs that decorated the side of the wall leading upstairs, because everywhere she looked there were massive, thick, black electrical cords snaking through the lab. The disparate objects horribly clashed with the rest of the building, shattering the initial warm coziness Elizabeth had felt when she stepped through the door way. Straight ahead she saw a faint bluish glow, and the soft crackle of electricity buzzed inside her ears.

Booker closed the door behind them, and made quick scans of their surroundings, his green eyes always moving. His vigilant caution had kept them alive so far, so it didn't surprise Elizabeth when she saw his index finger curled around the trigger of his shotgun when he followed her inside. After a moment, when he had determined that no unpleasant surprises awaited them Booker put up the weapon.

Once the possibility of danger passed, Booker and Elizabeth simultaneously realized that the narrow confines of the long hallway had placed the two of them uncomfortably close together. Even underneath her jacket she could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Elizabeth quickly looked down at the floor. She pressed her lips together, while simultaneously curling her toes inside her boots in order to deal with the rapid spike of tension. Awkward was not a suitable word to describe the silence that hung in the air, she could have laughed off awkward.

_Don't look up…_

_Hmmm, that's a really interesting rug. The pattern is so…._

Elizabeth stared at the scuff marks on Booker's shoes, her eyes moving up the bottom of his pin stripe pants.

_Stop, stop, stop, stop…._

Her toes curled tighter.

Booker cleared his throat.

"I'm going to check upstairs real quick to see if I can find anything useful. Why don't you search down here and make sure we don't miss something."

His voice was the picture of nonchalance. Booker sounded like he was telling her how he preferred his coffee. He even sounded a little bored. She wished she could do that. His face was probably an impenetrable mask too.

"Okay, no problem," Elizabeth replied, pleased that her voice sounded calm.

She slunk past Booker's side and maneuvered around his broad frame quickly. Elizabeth kept her eyes focused straight ahead before making a sharp left turn into the first room she saw.

_Smart girl._

Booker thought darkly, as he watched Elizabeth disappear down the hallway. Like a bullet shot from a gun she had practically fled from him as soon as he suggested they split up for a bit. It was a good thing she didn't look back, because the expression on his face was_ far_ from indifferent. Booker lingered at the doorway, his jaw still clenched tight with tension before he finally passed a hand over his face, as if that could somehow change his feelings.

With an angry sigh, Booker began ascending the steps, moving light and quick on his feet. He should be grateful, not bitter. Elizabeth's behavior around him since he had pleaded with her to let go of the possibility of them sleeping together had been damn near perfect. She never brought up what happened between them in the alleyway at Plaza Prosperity, she had given him plenty of personal space, she never did anything overtly suggestive, and whenever the silence between them had even _hinted_ at the maddening sexual frustration boiling up inside him, Elizabeth had cautiously traversed that mine field without setting him off. She had actually taken what he'd told her to heart, and _listened_ to him without any further protest.

He _should _have been relieved, but instead it _pissed_ him off.

Elizabeth's exemplary attitude in moving on from the situation only made the memory of her skin in his mouth even more vivid. Any moment they spent outside of combat had the potential to test his will power. So, he had pushed them along towards Comstock House at a taxing pace not knowing what else to do. When Booker reached the top of the steps he saw an open pair of double doors leading into a bedroom. He passed a dresser with a stack of books on it without so much as a second glance, his eyes widening as he crossed the threshold.

The first thing Booker noticed was the giant hole in the middle of the floor boards in order to make room for the very top part of the contraption down below in the labs. He whistled, as the buzz of electricity became louder. He raised both eyebrows, and pursed his lips, as he looked down. Booker understood what it meant to be married to your work. After all he ran his own private detective agency from his place in New York, but this…this might have been a bit extreme even for a workaholic such as himself.

Booker carefully stepped back from the edge. He would rather just assume that the boards beneath his feet were less stable the closer he came to the strange machine than actually finding out for himself by falling straight through the floor.

His eyes roamed through the rest of the room, brightening when he saw a Lutece Infusion bottle resting all alone on top of a small desk in the corner.

"Perfect" he remarked to himself as he crossed the room in three long efficient strides.

Booker picked up the beaker, and held it at eye level giving the murky liquid inside a good shake. When the cloudiness cleared the fluid turned yellowish in color, and that meant it would boost the strength of the magnetic shield the Luteces had "given" him, by tampering with his DNA. Booker didn't fully grasp how it all worked, he only knew that it did, and if it meant staying alive another day he'd drink a dozen of the damn bottles without giving a single thought about the possible side effects. With a casual flick of his thumb Booker popped off the cap that sealed the glass beaker shut, and took a deep breath.

_Bottoms up_, Booker thought with a grimace. Tipping his head back, he tried not to smell as he poured the offensive substance down his throat.

While Booker lucked out in finding something to distract himself with, downstairs Elizabeth wasn't so lucky. When she entered the Luteces study her heart was pounding so fast she collapsed in the nearest chair she saw.

Elizabeth unconsciously gripped the arms of the leather chair, as her eyes fluttered closed. The muscles in her stomach had coiled into a tight ball, and her legs had automatically slammed together as tight as possible in protest against the persistently growing pressure between her thighs. The bright red blush that blossomed across her face made Elizabeth feel feverish as well as foolish.

She _hated_ having to be so guarded with her emotions around Booker. Denial and repression was a very ill fitted garment on Elizabeth's sincere temperament. It was so _ridiculous_. She shouldn't be wasting all of her precious energy pretending that Booker DeWitt didn't make her feel so… excited. Well…excited _and_ scared. If Elizabeth could have yelled in frustration without Booker thinking she was in danger, she would have. Currently, she wanted to be as far away from his overwhelming presence as possible. Elizabeth couldn't think straight anymore with Booker around, because she was too busy concentrating on not acting like some comely temptress.

The concept of her being seductive when all of her social training was with a giant mechanical bird was so absurd, it made Elizabeth giggle hysterically. She covered her mouth with both hands in order to stifle it. Her petite frame trembled underneath the strain. There had to be some place more private where she could retreat and sort herself out. Just like in a combat situation her mind worked rapidly for a solution, her sanity depended on it.

_A bathroom…_Elizabeth rose from the comfortable chair, and began a rapid search through the labs. _Just please don't be upstairs,_ Elizabeth wished desperately as she started opening every door she came across. When Elizabeth flung open the fourth door and saw the matching white porcelain sink and bathtub, she smiled triumphantly. Elizabeth went inside, shutting and bolting the door behind her. She slid down to the cold ceramic tiled floor, sighing in relief.

_Alone at last._

Well, as alone as she could ever get at the moment. The tension between herself and Booker ever since Plaza Prosperity had been excruciating. Everything had seemed to be alright at the beginning, when they could chat about the odd behavior of the Lutece twins, her crazy father, the self-proclaimed "Prophet", and how the intentions of the Vox Populi had degraded from purposeful rebellion to mindless violence. But, it seemed to her that they had run out of things to discuss all too soon. Then the silence would come creeping in and smother them with all the unspoken things she wasn't supposed to be thinking about.

She recalled that the most embarrassing moment between them occurred when they discovered the hidden room inside the Salty Oyster bar. They had gone inside hoping to acquire something useful only to find a rather suggestive poster of a very buxom young woman instead. Elizabeth should have kept her mouth shut, but the words came pouring out of her before she could even stop herself.

"_Really? We risked our lives just for a bit of…titillation?" _She had asked, with sarcasm peppering every word.

When Booker had picked up the poster, she saw a thoughtful look of recognition pass over his face.

"_I think I knew her…worked at a bar on Houston Street."_

She hadn't been able to squash the unexpected feeling of jealousy that suddenly lanced through her heart.

"_I bet you did."_

When Booker returned her gaze then, she felt as transparent as glass.

Elizabeth shuddered at the memory. She needed to forget about that, but it was hard for her to resist the urge to compare her own figure to the woman on the poster. Elizabeth didn't need to be analytical or scrupulous to reach the obvious conclusion that she was shaped completely different. Her frame was slight. The woman on the poster was voluptuous. She was petite, while the other woman was robust.

Elizabeth wondered if Booker had a preference.

Ugh, the idea of him with other women made her feel gross. But, what did she expect? Booker was a widower and attractive. It was evident that he had experience, and that was all well and good until Elizabeth realized that _she_ would be compared with his past lovers. She felt fairly confident that Booker wouldn't do it consciously, but it was probably inevitable. When Elizabeth read books she automatically made comparisons on an author's plot, his prose, how engaging the main protagonist was… she always noticed a whole myriad of differences. Elizabeth was certain that sex and physical attraction functioned the same way, just more complexly, and the realization made her uneasy.

But, she couldn't allow herself to fixate over the idea. It wasn't the crux of the issue. If Booker wasn't attracted to her, he would have never wanted to be physically intimate with her in the first place. The fact that she now had to walk on egg shells around him, and that he practically forbade her from bringing up the subject was very revealing about what he thought of her physical attractiveness.

Elizabeth mentally ticked off the question concerning her appearance, and moved on to the tangled mess of evidence she had gathered about Booker DeWitt's behavior. She sighed tiredly, and rubbed her temples at the prospect of psychologically analyzing the infuriating man. Elizabeth thought she knew what it meant to want something, she'd only dreamed about Paris for her whole life. The moment Booker's tongue slithered past her lips and into her mouth told her that she had no _idea _what it meant to desire something. Or despair over it. Elizabeth had promised herself that she would figure out what was _really_ going on inside of Booker's head, she had to, and the sooner the better. So, one by one Elizabeth plucked her memories from inside her mind and started sifting through them.

He told her it was wrong to be with him.

The gambler, the alcoholic, the killer was telling _her_ what was right and wrong. Elizabeth rolled her gorgeous blue eyes, the corners of her lips tugged together in a sarcastic smile. She dismissed the thought and moved on to the next one.

Booker claimed that her feelings were biased towards him because he liberated her from her tower on Monument Island. He also tried to take her to New York when she wanted to go to Paris, she had not forgotten that. Elizabeth knew that Booker DeWitt was as far from a knight in shining armor as a man could get, but…he did have his charms.

"_So…not giant balloons?"_ He had commented playfully when she tried explaining to him how Madame Lutece enabled the city of Columbia to float.

Booker's dry sense of humor had helped ease the tension between them within the small interior of the gondola. It also made him look adorable with his wild green eyes, mussed hair, and five o' clock shadow. One thing was certain though, whether she was laughing with him or arguing with him, Booker made her _very _nervous. Fink was eerily accurate when he compared Booker to a lion; the man was nothing if not overwhelming and aggressive.

He told her that he would hurt her.

Elizabeth shifted around uncomfortably. Sitting on the tile was starting to make her bottom sore, but she didn't feel like standing. There was one small blessing that her captors had over looked in censoring her reading material. In their efforts to make physical relations between a man and a woman as vague as possible, they neglected to pay much attention to her books on animal biology and behavior. Elizabeth had an exceptional memory, and at the moment she concentrated on conjuring up the contents of a documentary that a man on safari had written on the behavior of a pride of lions.

Lions were some of the most deadly predators in the African continent. They came equipped with large well-muscled bodies, jaws strong enough to crush a young zebra's skull, and claws meant for lacerating flesh in order to bleed out and exhaust their prey. She narrowed her focus on the author's description of the male lion. The male was twice the size and weight of his female counterpart, with a thick mane of hair to protect his vulnerable throat from other lions, and every single nuance in his physiology nature had adapted for one purpose…killing other males.

The author wrote that when a rival took over a pride, not only did it usually result in the death of the resident male, but that of his offspring as well. A new male would find and cull the cubs too weak to fend for themselves, with the sole purpose of sending the pride females into estrus so _he_ could mate with them. Elizabeth couldn't think of anything in nature more disturbing than that, other than stinging insects of course.

She took a deep breath, tentatively reaching for the memory that scared the hell out of her, but could possibly explain so much. Suddenly anxious, Elizabeth rose to her feet, and caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She didn't even recognize herself. Her brown hair looked almost as wild as Booker's, and Lady Comstock's dress clung to her like a second skin, making Elizabeth realize that she actually had curves. At least the look of embarrassment that spread across her face was familiar. With her hair cut short she could see the flush of red race from her high cheek bones all the way down to her exposed neck and chest.

"Stop it," she spoke quietly to her reflection. If she couldn't even look at herself without blushing like an idiot whenever she thought about Booker in a sexual way he'd never see her as an adult. Turning away, Elizabeth began to pace; occasionally glancing at the locked bathroom door. The wood wasn't as thick as the door to the parlor on the First Lady airship. Booker could probably break it if he wanted to. The prospect made her pace a little faster, head down, staring at the pale green tiles underneath her heels, arms crossed tightly against her chest.

How bad could it possibly hurt?

When Booker touched her, his fingers had felt amazing, but her intuition warned her that she would be dealing with a totally different side of him if they had sex for real. Why was that? She held up the metaphor of a male lion against the disquieting memory of watching him pleasure himself. Elizabeth tried to imagine what it might feel like to have that part of his body inside her, and she couldn't decide whether the idea excited or scared her more. But, that was the whole point of engaging in the emotionally exhausting mental exercise. Elizabeth needed to determine which of those feelings she should embrace.

A thought occurred to her.

Elizabeth sat back down on the floor leaning her body against the door for support. A fine tremor vibrated from the center of her chest all the way down to her hands as she tugged up her dress and petticoat, gathering the material around her waist. Modesty be damned, she _had _to know. Elizabeth pushed her under things aside with one hand, and before she lost her nerve, slipped a finger past her already swollen lips into the wet humid space between her thighs with the other.

_Oh._

Even in the very rare occasions where she'd touched herself before, Elizabeth hadn't given much thought on what the…interior of her anatomy would feel like. She had discovered that the most pleasant sensations could be derived from rubbing the diminutive, but highly sensitive organ that rested within the folds of flesh above her opening. But, ever since her encounter with Booker, Elizabeth's body awareness had increased drastically. She needed to know what would happen to her if she made him her lover, and that meant trying to understand how they would…_fit_ together. Elizabeth moved her finger just a little, quietly sucking in a breath when she felt the muscles of her sex clench tight in response. It was surreal. Elizabeth was at a loss for words to describe what it exactly felt like for her, but she wasn't doing it to feel pleasure at the moment. She was doing it because she wanted to get inside of Booker's mind.

The walls of her sex squeezed when Elizabeth partially withdrew her finger; then did so again when she pushed it back inside. She recalled the motion Booker made with his hand around himself. His grip was merciless and his pace violent. It looked like he should have been in agonizing pain instead of experiencing pleasure. Elizabeth knew how strong he was. Booker lifted unyielding metal gates without really breaking a sweat. In close quarters if he didn't have time to reload his fire arm, and if she hadn't found any Invigorating Salts for him to power his Vigors, Booker took to hand to hand combat like a duck to water with Skyhook, fists, and elbows. He knew his way around a brawl, and she had told him so right after they were jumped by a Handyman back in Finkton, just outside the Good Times Club following the conclusion of Booker's "job interview". The point was, if Booker hit someone, they went down, if he wanted someone to die, they died.

"_Lions walk with lions DeWitt!" _ It's what Fink had said.

Nature had designed the lion for killing and conquest.

Booker couldn't even press the button of an elevator without slamming the side of his fist into it. He wouldn't hurt her. No. He'd rip her apart.

Elizabeth wasn't exactly able to get a close look at his…appendage, but what she _did_ manage to see in the gray fog of the rainstorm made her eyes grow as big and round as saucers. She looked down at herself, completely withdrawing her finger. It was well lubricated with a thin, clear fluid. Elizabeth passed her thumb over it, watching it stretch. She studied it curiously. The substance had the consistency of egg whites, and it probably meant that her body was doing something that proper etiquette forbade her to know about. Rolling her eyes, she rearranged her petticoat and dress.

However, what she _did_ know was that if they became lovers, instead of Booker's hand moving up and down his groin it would be the most tender and uninitiated part of her sensitive anatomy. Elizabeth had spent enough time patching Booker up from his wounds to know that there was nothing underneath his skin but rigid muscle, and she was certain that he probably had the same amount of freakish power in his hips as he did in his broad shoulders. Chills crawled down her spine, and she shuddered at the thought.

Was that what he meant to spare her from?

Still shaking, she rose to her feet and smoothed down her dress.

Then Elizabeth remembered what it felt like the first time she and Booker had been aboard the First Lady airship, and she had looked up to see the coordinates he punched in. Elizabeth crossed her arms and began to pace again. She snorted contemptuously. No, he wasn't nearly that altruistic. There was an ulterior motive underneath it all.

Again Elizabeth returned to the vision of him pleasuring himself for the answer. When he had finished she didn't linger for too long because she didn't want him catching her. But, the look on his face after he reached his climax was far from satisfied or content. Elizabeth knew it must have felt good, she had watched his face so carefully when it happened.

_Oh my God…that's it._

If Booker's own hand could make him feel that good…how would he feel inside of her?

Suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle fit together at last. Booker wasn't trying to spare her from physical pain per se, but what he was trying to hide was the amount of pleasure he'd _feel_ from hurting her. Enjoyment on his part was really inevitable from a purely biological perspective. Form fits function. Elizabeth had read that in a book somewhere, and it certainly applied to what she had deduced to be the basic mechanics of physical relations. She thought of the involuntary, reflexive clenching her anatomy had made around her own finger where that part of him would go. That would certainly be very…_stimulating. _

They were made to fit together.

Booker wouldn't be able to deny or stop something that primal; small wonder why sex with him sounded more like a page taken from a wild safari than a fluffy romance novel to her. In the heat of the moment that damn poker face of his would burn to cinders. His control was already bone dry like kindling. All she had to do was ignite a spark. Elizabeth nervously ran her hands along the green terry cloths that hung on the wooden towel rack as she walked by them.

The situation wasn't so much about her inexperience as it was about his deeply rooted self-hatred. Booker had looked so lost and despondent as he sat in the rain after the moment of pleasure had passed. If they slept together Booker would feel guilty. Oh, he would please her first. If what happened between them the last time was _any_ indication of how it could be with him…Booker would make her forget her own name by the time he was done with her. Elizabeth turned on her heel, disturbing the hanging towels with her hand as she passed by. But, when _his_ time came, he would not be gentle.

She would see that her discomfort excited him, and that her pain made him feel good. No denial, no apologies, or poker faces could hide it from her. She would know the part of him that he did not wish for her to see. That was it. All the awful tension between them was because _he_ was afraid of being vulnerable.

What do people do when they're afraid of her?

They put her in a cage.

Elizabeth's temper flared at the thought. Booker may not have been locking her up technically speaking, but he was making her decision for her. He was projecting his ideas onto her, and manipulating her to agree with him so he could remain emotionally safe. What Booker was essentially doing was coercing her to believe that she couldn't be his lover because she was inexperienced; when it really was just a smoke screen to hide the fact that he had allowed his bitterness to forge him into a brutal man. Now, the only issues that kept Elizabeth from obtaining full emotional closure on the situation was how _did_ she feel about all of it, and more importantly what was she going to do about it?

While Elizabeth was sequestered inside of the Luteces bathroom confronting and grappling with the direction that their relationship should go in, Booker lazily continued exploring the upstairs. He knew that he was just putting off going back downstairs. No use in lying to himself, but on the other hand leaving her alone also made him edgy. The longer Booker was away from her the more worried he became about her safety. Their recent close call with the Songbird was still fresh in his mind. What she had asked him to do…Booker drew a deep breath of air. The memory made Booker tremble it disturbed him so much. When Elizabeth had placed his hands around her throat he felt her blood change to pure adrenaline. Like an emotional mirror, her terror and her desperation rippled through him straight to the bone.

Booker could not, _would not_ let that happen. Just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. They were partners, comrades in arms fighting for their very lives. For good or bad, they had spilled blood together, and as a battle worn veteran Booker would _not_ leave her behind. As unlikely as their friendship was he had grown so used to her presence that Elizabeth being around him was like having a second shadow. It felt strange when she wasn't there by his side, and as her friend anyone trying to get to her would have to go through him first. As a man..._God damn it._

A sharp breath hissed past his lips.

As a man... she was a woman. Booker wanted to throw his fists against the wall until his hands bled or broke. He never wanted her to leave his sight, but there was no way in hell Booker was going to go down there and place himself within arm's length of Elizabeth until he felt divested of his totally inappropriate feelings towards her.

Feeling suddenly tired Booker sank into the comfortable mattress of the bed as he sat down. He propped his shot gun against the wall, and reached into his breast pocket for matches and a cigarette. Maybe after a smoke he'd feel calmer. Besides, it would at least help him deal with the harsh aftertaste of the Infusion he just drank. Booker plucked the slender paper roll of tobacco from a pack and placed it in his mouth. He struck the match's bright red tip against the side of the small match box, igniting a spark. Booker took a long drag, and partially leaned back on his arms, easing into a familiar slouch. As his body shifted he felt his left foot brush against something caught underneath the bed.

Booker raised an eyebrow, and sat back up. When he looked down there was a voxophone wedged between his feet. He exhaled smoke and picked it up with his bandaged hand. Booker eyed it suspiciously like he was holding a venomous snake instead of a harmless audio diary.

Harmless…_right._

Booker scowled as he puffed on the cigarette he held between his teeth. Every time he found one of the damned things he always regretted pressing the play button. Why all the citizens of Columbia from the lowliest Vox Populi to Father Comstock himself, had been infected with the mad urge to record their inner most thoughts on a device that could be played by anyone that came along was beyond him. He guessed that the novelty of listening to the sound of your own voice had something to do with it. But, he shouldn't be too quick to judge. He did it too. Well, some alternate version of himself did. If Booker tried to sort out all those muddled memories inside his head, he'd probably give himself another nosebleed and wind up a twitching mess on the floor. Just like all the dead people suddenly brought back to life by Elizabeth's unnerving ability to bring in an alternate universe in which he didn't kill them. He shook his head wearily as he set the voxophone down on the bed and pressed the play button. Booker took another drag off his cigarette, crossing his arms as he listened.

_Alright, talk to me you crazy bastards._

Rosalind Lutece's clear and objective voice filled the silence in the bedroom as he smoked. The lit of her British accent acutely enunciating every word.

"_Comstock has sabotaged our contraption. Yet, we are not dead."_

_A theory…_ Booker thought cynically, anticipating Rosalind's next words.

"_A theory: we are scattered amongst the possibility space, but my brother and I are together, and so I am content. He is not. The business with the girl lies unresolved, but perhaps there is one who can finish it in our stead."_

The voxophone clicked off at the physicist's last words. Leave it to a Lutece to make misfortune sound just about as an unremarkable as reading through the morning mail, he mused. Booker's expression darkened, he had no doubts about who Rosalind was referring to when she mentioned that a certain someone would finish their business with the girl. It always, _always_ came back to the girl.

_Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt._

Gooseflesh prickled across the skin of Booker's arms, making the fine hairs stand on end. His cigarette had burnt down to a nub, and there was a sharp stabbing pain piercing the sides of his temples. He placed the butt of his cigarette down on the night stand, feeling a trickling wetness coming from his nose. Booker pressed his face against the sleeve of his shirt. The blood would hardly be noticeable against the dark fabric. That's why he wore black. It hid the stains, although, lately there was more of his own blood on his clothes than somebody else's for a change.

Sweet notes of music floated into Booker's ears. There was a piano playing somewhere.

_What the hell? Elizabeth?_

No, it couldn't be. He remembered seeing a flute and a trumpet in one of her rooms on Monument Island, not a piano. The radio then? Or a phonograph? But, there was something queer about the melody. He couldn't quite peg what it was though. It was almost as if the other instruments accompanying the piano in the song didn't sound normal. He better head downstairs and go see what was going on. In this place, strange other-worldly occurrences were as common in Columbia as weeds growing in an unkempt lawn. Booker reached for his shotgun, but before his fingers touched the cool metal of the barrel there was singing. A female voice crooned seductively, her words accompanied by the strange melody climbed inside his ears to form knots in his stomach as he experienced a sudden rush of blood to the head.

"_Use me, I'm beautiful. _

_Take me, I'm yours. _

_Hurt me, it feels like medicine. And all I deserve..."_

Booker reached into his breast pocket and retrieved another smoke. He struck the match with a little more force than necessary as he lit the roll of tobacco. With a fresh cigarette in his mouth, he snatched his weapon in his bandaged hand. Booker looked out the window for a brief moment. The street was strangely quiet, with no sign of the Vox Populi anywhere.

_Too damn bad_.

Booker was spoiling for a fight.

He rested the shotgun on a shoulder and walked out of the bedroom, noticing that his legs had automatically lengthened their stride in time with the music. Against his will he moved down the steps quickly, his feet seemed to have developed minds of their own. Tobacco created a fragrant cloud of smoke around Booker's head, and his footsteps were muffled by the thick rug underfoot as he followed the music.

"_People have funny things swimming inside._

_They swing like pendulums, they turn like the tides."_

Oh, how well Elizabeth knew that to be true.

When she emerged from the Luteces bathroom Elizabeth had made finally made peace with how she felt about Booker DeWitt. But, just because she had it all figured out Elizabeth was _far_ from feeling calm concerning her conclusions. In fact she had to lay down on the sofa in the Luteces study; it scared her so much. If Booker still wanted her, she was his, because in the end physical pain seemed so trivial in comparison to how her heart was shredded into pieces when she thought of being without him.

Above Elizabeth's body, as if by magic and her emotional need, a tear had appeared right in front of her. It was outlined in crimson, and the music that came pouring out of it was so strange. The melody and unusual cacophony of instruments gave her gooseflesh as a surge of lazy adrenaline washed over her. The lyrics were absolutely scandalous in their directness, and the raw sensuality that oozed from it made her grip the plush brown fabric that covered the sofa with both hands. Her tears always had a flavor of wish fulfillment in them, but this one was so unexpected it was like a gift. It was the closest she ever came to getting what she wanted since she was a child. Moved by its eerie accuracy of her emotions, Elizabeth closed her eyes and let the song sweep her away in its bittersweet rhythm. A gentle puff of air came from Elizabeth's slightly open mouth as she listened.

Wasn't it ironic that only days ago she was hitting him over the head with a wrench, and he found her to be an insufferable task? The dynamic of their relationship had gone from barely tolerating each other to something so complicated, and beautiful, and awful, and co-dependent it made her laugh and weep all at the same time. Sitting in the Luteces bathroom looking at the matching sets of green towels, combs, a razor, a bottle of Rosalind's perfume sitting next to Robert's cologne… it brought tears to her eyes. They were inseparable even in the strange state they existed in, two halves to a whole.

"_Darling, I don't need money.  
I could be happy with someone to love…" _proclaimed the chorus.

Elizabeth had coveted that closeness, that _connection _her whole life without even knowing it. Her isolation had deprived her of the most basic human need. Elizabeth never fully grasped just how alone she was until she had to spend her every waking moment fretting, concentrating, fighting to keep someone else alive.

She already felt that fate was pushing her and Booker together to be just as intertwined with each other as the twins.

"_Oh, what a crazy time. I've been a fool.  
On a wild ride to oblivion… I lost my mind…"_

Elizabeth's sensitive nose picked up the scent of cigarette smoke. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear... Her pulse raced a little faster the stronger the smell became, but the music had baptized her with a bizarre calmness. Elizabeth didn't need to open her eyes to know when he was near. But, not even Booker DeWitt could disturb her mental mediation. He would linger where ever he wished, and she would enjoy his scorching presence as if she were sun bathing on a beach . Her lips parted in a slow smile when she immediately thought of Battleship Bay.

_You should have danced with me, you idiot._

"_But with you it's understood. You make me feel strong." _

It was true. She drew a lot of strength from him. Whenever Elizabeth thought she couldn't handle another horrible thing happening to them, or worse _because_ of them, he was right there by her side to talk her through it. Booker DeWitt was also the first person to even bother to make an effort to answer her questions about anything even when he was being infuriating. _Almost_ anything, she corrected.

"_Your arms look so powerful when they hold me down…"_

Elizabeth's long dark eye ashes fluttered at the words. She was sorely tempted to open her eyes and see exactly where Booker was in the room. But, she also wanted to hear the rest of the song, so she didn't. How closely was he studying her? She no longer cared if he hurt her. Just as long as he was there to talk her through it she could endure anything; even if he was the source of the pain.

"_Everyone looks dangerous, and no one keeps their promises. And I am always running_…"

Proper ladies didn't engage in physical relations outside of marriage. Proper ladies also didn't stab others to death with a pair of scissors either. Elizabeth hadn't been treated like a normal person her whole life, and yet it seemed that she was expected to behave as one.

"_And you have your dark places. Regretting…"_

Life was too short and unpredictable to live with regret. It was also incredibly messy and complicated. Booker showed her that the moral lines of what was right and wrong that had been so rigidly dictated to her were as crooked as Jeremiah Fink, and ambiguous as the Prophet. Why should she bend over backwards to fit the mold of the very people she was trying to escape from?

"_Feeling…"_

Elizabeth was fed up with letting other people shape who she was, just so they would feel safer around her, including Booker. Everything that she had ever known had been filtered by someone's bias and carefully censored. Contrary to _his_ opinion, her friendship with him was the most real, genuine connection to the outside world she ever had. Booker didn't volunteer information about himself, but he never denied it to her either; which made her current predicament with him all the more absurd. His stubbornness only made her angry the more she thought about it. He was trying to censor a part of himself from her; just as her captors had torn out all the pages of certain books whenever there was something objectionable in the material. It would not do.

_ "Remembering…something"_

Booker had openings in his defenses, and now she knew exactly where to look for them. Elizabeth would bring down his high and mighty walls, and rip open his heart just as easily she would a tear and devour it whole. She would show him that it didn't matter to her if it was broken. Because even broken Elizabeth knew that it still beat. The man that would have once handed her over to strangers in New York now cared about what she thought of him.

"_We never said…regretting. We wish we said…something. We should have said…regretting. We could have said something"_ the woman sang.

It was a message for her, pulled straight from another reality. Elizabeth would heed it because it couldn't have been coincidence; it gave her the focus she needed to be fearless. She didn't want the lion to consume her, she wanted to commune with it.

"_Truly, I don't need money, or strangers to love me. No diamonds and pearls, or fast cars designed for rock stars."_

_ "I could be happy with someone to trust. Someone to love, someone to trust…"_

She would always be okay if they stayed together. Booker was her friend; he couldn't just cut her off emotionally just because their relationship was changing.

Everything happened for a reason, didn't it?

_"Use me, I'm beautiful" _was the faded whisper.

Elizabeth's blue eyes flew wide open. She didn't feel tired anymore. Her heart was beating like a drum, when she rolled her head to the side and found Booker lingering in the doorway staring at her, just like she knew he'd be.

_"Take me, I'm yours."_

She met his green eyes without hesitation as the strange song's parting words deliciously danced along the base of her spine. The tear sealed shut like it was never there. But, just like the memory of Booker's warm mouth and hot breath against her skin, it had happened and they both knew it. He still made her nervous, but Elizabeth could manage it now. A long line of gray ash from the cigarette he had in his mouth fell to the red carpet indicating that he had been standing there for a _very_ long time. When she was able to maintain eye contact with him without blushing or flinching, Elizabeth's spirits soared. She bet that Booker wouldn't make any comment about the tear at all; he would have a firm choke hold on his denial and be straight to "business as usual."

Booker threw the butt of the wasted cigarette aside.

"Find anything?" he asked.

_My courage_, Elizabeth reflected.

"Not really. Just some money under the cushions" she replied casually, sitting up and retrieving a Silver Eagle from the inside of her jacket's white cuffs.

Elizabeth paused for a second, deliberating how she was going to throw the coin at him. Sometimes she threw it wide and wild, just to see if he could catch it. Booker had never failed _once_ to catch a single coin no matter how wide she threw it.

_Hmmm…_

"Catch," she said smirking, tossing the slender coin at him under handed.

Booker caught it of course, but Elizabeth hadn't told him about the other coins she had hidden up her sleeve. Without hesitating she took them from her jacket throwing the small objects at him one right after the other as fast as she could, her arm swinging in all different directions.

She watched his body quickly shift from side to side, his hands working to catch all the falling coins like striking cobras. Elizabeth's breathing quickened and her heart skipped a beat when she saw one slip through his huge hands. Her eyes grew bigger and she leaned forward as she watched it plummet straight to the floor, willing it to crash.

Elizabeth's hopes were dashed when two long fingers snatched the silver disk just barely in the nick of time before it landed on the floor. She scowled at Booker. His right hand had the coin gripped between the knuckles of his index and middle finger. She still couldn't believe he caught it. Although, Booker had to drop straight down to his knees in order to do so.

So maybe it wasn't a total loss. Elizabeth stared at his huge hands as they closed around the Silver Eagles, each hand was big enough to cover her entire face, but Booker's fingers were long and slender like an artist. His art was death, but his hands were so beautiful. They did terrible things and yet…

She wanted him to touch her again.

Booker was still on his knees when he pocketed all the coins she had thrown at him. He pushed the hair out of his eyes, and Elizabeth wanted to run her fingers through its unruly strands of brown and gray. He slowly rose to his feet, and she was delighted to see the befuddled facial expression that softened his normally stoic features. She remained perched on the Luteces sofa, and Booker scratched the back of his head as he looked at her.

"I ain't even gonna ask what _that_ was all about," he finally muttered shaking his head.

Elizabeth shrugged her narrow shoulders.

"What? I don't have any pockets" she explained innocently.

For a moment Elizabeth thought he was going to make a joke with her. She saw life and thought sparking behind Booker's green eyes, his lips already shaping with a retort. But, he immediately clammed up and was defensive again, shutting his mouth closed. Elizabeth leaned her head slightly off to the side as she studied him, feeling both disappointed and amused.

Booker closed his eyes for a short moment, rubbing them.

_This is exactly the kind of shit that gets you in way over your head, _he warned himself.

Just one shot turns into drinking the whole bottle.

One friendly game becomes a long evening spent shuffling cards until his fingers were covered in paper cuts.

Just one bet placed on a horse to make himself feel alive again left him starving for a week.

A hand raised in self-defense somehow escalates to a body count so high that he wondered if he should be locked up.

Just a single laugh had lulled him into a kiss.

Booker's throat flexed; his Adam's apple moving underneath the stubbly skin as he tried to swallow past the dryness in his mouth. His eyes fell on the fetching scatter of freckles across Elizabeth's chest, beckoning for his undivided attention.

When he walked into the study to discover Elizabeth sprawled across the sofa bathed in the soft red light of one of the random tears that commonly cropped up in Columbia, he stopped dead in his tracks. It felt like he had just caught her naked.

Booker froze in the center of the doorway, not daring to take another step. He didn't need no song to imagine himself pressed on top of Elizabeth's body; that vision had come to him easily at the mere sight of her laying horizontal. In silence he had scoffed bitterly at his own pun.

Booker had slouched against the doorway, crossed his legs, and strategically placed the shot gun in front of him to cover the rapidly growing bulge in the center of his pants. He never wanted Elizabeth to bring up the subject of having sex with her again, and she hadn't, but the music pouring out of that tear…

_Fuck._

The melody was deliriously insinuating and the pacing of the notes was damn hypnotic. The lyrics were some of the bawdiest and direct words Booker had ever heard come from a woman's mouth. He couldn't think of a more sinful or somehow strangely tasteful way to proposition a man. That was what bothered him about it. It was too convenient, and yet the only tears he'd ever seen Elizabeth open had a blue glow to them. The random strays that appeared here and there shined red. She even made a comment a while ago that they were the first people to ever hear a song when they stumbled across another random tear of music.

Elizabeth couldn't have conjured it up on purpose…could she? Booker recalled some of the words.

"_Use me, I'm beautiful." _

_Yes you are, doll face. _

Booker had readily acknowledged that when Elizabeth gracefully turned her head towards him. Smooth neck muscles glided underneath skin that he knew was creamy and supple to open those big blue eyes of hers and look up at him with parted lips.

"_Take me, I'm yours."_

_Just one kiss?_

One kiss and they would both be bound for the floor.

So, he remained far away and immobile from her. That is until she started chucking Silver Eagles at him. But, it gave him something else to think about as he worked to catch all of them. Which was good, it brought him down to half-mast. Elizabeth's face had always been very expressive and readable, but when Booker tried to study it now he found that it was too mercurial to interpret. She kept switching back and forth between varieties of emotions like changing cloths, making it hard for him to pin down what she was thinking.

That couldn't be good.

Booker may have been unable to tell what Elizabeth was feeling at that exact moment, but she was thinking so hard he could hear gears turning in that pretty little head of hers. Not knowing what was going on with her made his palms sweaty.

"Well," Elizabeth began, as she stood.

She walked towards the doorway with long purposeful strides. When Elizabeth stood toe to toe with Booker she stopped, and let her gaze travel up his tall, lean frame committing every detail of him to memory.

Pin stripe pants with pockets full of Silver Eagles, a black belt around his waist with a scratched silver buckle to match the black linen shirt that was only half tucked in his pants. Long, muscular arms, warm sun kissed skin, hands loose, with a strip of her old blue dress wrapped around his right hand. That same hand reached out for his shot gun. Sooty gray vest, the creases in his brown leather holsters, the loose knot of his crimson necktie, rolled up sleeves and up turned collar now smeared with dirt and sweat. The sandpaper stubble that covered his jaw and lower neck, a stubborn mouth, a well-defined nose, not too big, or too small, unruly dark hair, and finally those eyes… cat green and wild.

_If you're fire than I am a phoenix. _

The thought seared her heart and made Elizabeth flex her hands. She held Booker's gaze for an uncomfortably long time before she finally said, "Let's go find out what my _mother _wants us to see."

Booker stepped aside to give her plenty of room to walk past him.

_I don't think so._

When she moved past him, Elizabeth brushed the side of her body against his, a forbidden press of her soft form into the hardness of Booker's chest. With her head held high she crashed her shoulder into the side of his arm, and didn't look back. Elizabeth strutted down the hallway casually like she didn't have a care in the world. It was true, she didn't care anymore if she made Booker DeWitt feel uncomfortable. If he could awaken this _vicious_ desire in her just like he played that guitar in the basement of The Graveyard Shift, only to immediately manipulate her into denying its existence. He deserved to face the consequences of opening Pandora's Box.

_Uncomfortable? Frustrated? Good._ _If I want to look at you, I will. If brush past you, then deal with it. _

Elizabeth seethed as she walked. Not only did she feel angry, she felt dangerous. It was good, because gentle murmurings and sweet nothings weren't in Booker's vocabulary. If she truly wanted to communicate with him, she had to speak his language. Elizabeth had to wrap herself in every aggressive emotion she possessed if she had any hopes in surviving him.

_Your armor is cracking, and when you least expect it, I will break you Booker DeWitt and grind your indifference to dust._

Elizabeth would need rage to peel Booker open, so he could finally just accept all the bittersweet compassion she felt for him. She would have to crush all his excuses about their age difference and her lack of experience. Elizabeth could not allow guilt into their relationship.

Speaking of guilt, her eyes widened when she walked into the main lab and saw the Lutece tear machine. The large room was in a chaotic state of disarray, with half scribbled equations on several black boards, over turned desks with piles of paper spilling out of them. Elizabeth's eyes were glued to the large, eerily glowing tear that flickered in the center of the contraption.

The giant black cords that ran throughout the lab all converged into the room and hooked into the huge machine. Elizabeth watched long slender fingers of blue electricity crackle and crawl across the metal spokes of the contraption. A trickle of cold sweat ran down the sides of her temples. She immediately felt uneasy. It was the biggest room in the building for obvious reasons, but Elizabeth felt insanely claustrophobic. Her breath hitched half-way up her throat and she began to pace like a caged animal.

She wouldn't open the tear without Booker being there. But, he wasn't in the room yet. Elizabeth pressed her knuckles against the silky flesh of her mouth nervously. Maybe she shouldn't have bumped into him after all.

_I'm sorry. Just please get in here._

When she saw him walk into the room out of the corner of her eyes, a wave of relief washed over her, and her breathing became steadier. Elizabeth saw that he didn't have his shot gun with him. He must have left it in the study. Elizabeth didn't take the time to contemplate if that meant anything. As soon as he was almost to her, she ripped open the tear with a familiar motion of her hands before she could have a panic attack. Whatever it was that she was supposed to see, Elizabeth wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.

"_You WHORE!"_

"That's my mother…" Elizabeth gasped.

"_I can assure you madam that my sexual interested in your dear prophet is nonexistent." _

"And Madame Lutece…" she breathed in horror, pacing back and forth.

"_Furthermore the man is quite sterile." _Rosalind stated calmly.

"_That's a lie" _Lady Comstock hissed.

"_Come and get your little bastard! I want her OUT of my house!" _ Lady Comstock yelled, her voice cracking with rage.

"Sterile?" Booker whispered. The lines in his forehead became more pronounced as his eye brows furrowed together in confusion.

"They weren't my parents…" Elizabeth murmured, blinking her eyes rapidly in shock.

Booker had his arms crossed and Elizabeth placed her right hand on her chest, feeling her heart pound as they looked at each other in disbelief. The metal of her thimble rested against her skin as an irritating reminder that she was not normal.

Surprisingly it was Booker who spoke first, his voice low and full of apprehension.

"Then what were you to them?"

"A child they decided to imprison" she replied coldly.

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Booker. She released a frustrated sigh.

"I don't understand. Why would the twins send us to find three truths? Were the tears somehow related through a kind of quantum field or were they…."

Booker took a deep breath and released it before interrupting her.

"Elizabeth… they wanted you to understand…"

His voice was so soft and intimate. It completely wrecked Elizabeth's current train of thought.

"Who?" she asked disheartened.

Booker let all the warmth and sorrow he felt for Elizabeth in that moment fill his green eyes as he looked down at her, willing her to understand.

"You mean?" Elizabeth stuttered.

Her blue eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Oh…" she sucked in an unsteady breath.

"Where I come from" Elizabeth finished, realization finally dawning on her.

There was a scraping noise as she backed into a voxophone that had appeared on the floor in place where the tear used to be. Elizabeth stepped aside, and stared at it. Booker gave her a long contemplative look before he bent down to pick it up. He grabbed it, and pressed the red play button to hear the familiar and exasperated voice of Rosalind Lutece.

"_Lady Comstock seems to believe that the child is the result of some errant act of carnality between myself and her beloved prophet. I told the poor woman the truth. That the child was a product of our little contraption, but I think she found that less believable than her delusion."_

_Wow…_Booker thought. That was the most annoyed he'd ever heard Rosalind Lutece sound. It was a small wonder too.

"You know…I think I understand why you drink now," Elizabeth muttered softy to herself, backing away from him before suddenly bolting for the door.

The sound of Elizabeth's heels furiously clicking against the hard wood floor made his head turn sharply with a snap. He saw a flash of blue from her dress as she fled the room. Without hesitation he let the audio recording drop to the floor to chase after her.

Elizabeth's hand covered her mouth as she traveled down the hallway at a brisk walk.

_I am no one._

Even though Elizabeth detested the thought of the Prophet being her father, at least she had a basic biological human connection to him. It gave her life-long imprisonment meaning, even if it was awful. She didn't even have that anymore. Her life meant absolutely _nothing._

"Hey! Elizabeth!"

Booker's voice calling back to her made her pause. Elizabeth wiped a scalding tear away from her cheek with the back of her hand, and she spun around on her heel to find him right behind her, his long legs making giant strides in an effort to reach her before she left without him.

Elizabeth's hands flexed and formed into tight fists hanging at her sides.

"He killed Lady Comstock…the Luteces…"

Once he caught up with her, Booker's sudden panic waned. But, Elizabeth's petite frame was trembling with unsteady tension so he didn't dare relax for a single moment. He would talk her through this.

"And anyone who knew the truth was better dead than alive" he replied darkly, his mouth set into a hard scowl.

"I'm not even his daughter!" she exclaimed incredulously. Her blue eyes glittered with anger and bitterness so unexpected it frightened him.

"I'm just some _specimen_ to be poked and prodded." Elizabeth continued harshly.

"NO." He interjected passionately.

"You are not." Booker added slowly, with careful annunciation, letting his words sink in. He took a step closer to her, ignoring the narrowness of the hallway.

"Listen, Elizabeth. What you've been through, ain't _nobody_ in the world that deserves that."

_How can you be so cruel to me?_ Elizabeth asked him with her eyes.

"Booker…"

He leaned his face slightly closer to hers. His green eyes were hard chips of determination. Booker pointed the index finger of his right hand towards Elizabeth's small, slightly upturned nose.

"Hey, we are getting outta here, you got it," he told her firmly.

"And you're never gonna have to look back."

Booker was being so supportive and understanding with her, Elizabeth felt like her heart was shattering like glass. How could he offer his friendship to her in one hand, and still deny her the physical closeness that everything inside of her was starved for? She wanted anything and everything he could give her. She wanted to know every part of him, inside and out. Good, bad, ugly it didn't matter because it would be _real. _Elizabeth didn't _want _to use her imagination wondering what it would be like, she didn't _want_ to have to guess and fill in the blanks like she had to do with everything else in her life. She didn't think that complete and total honesty was too much to ask for, especially from him.

Elizabeth placed her hands on Booker's chest, and forcefully shoved him away. He hadn't been expecting it so she caught him off guard, and he backed right into the small desk that was near the staircase. The green lamp resting on its surface shook from the disturbance.

She pierced him with a heated look. "What happens then?"

Booker placed his hands off to the side and leaned against the desk, his long fingers curling around its edge. There was a brief flash of some emotion in his eyes before he bristled, and Elizabeth watched his defenses slide in place like iron curtains. Gritting her teeth she repeated the question.

"What happens after we get out of here, huh?"

His silence was maddening. She changed tactics, and asked a question that she was mostly sure of what the answer would be.

"Are we going to Paris? Or are we going to New York?"

"I'm taking you to Paris," he answered her carefully in a flat monotone.

A wry half smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Really? And what are _you_ going to do?"

"Because I assume that the _"I"_ and the _"you"_ doesn't mean "_us."_ So, the logical conclusion is that after all this is over we're parting ways, right?" Elizabeth asked, her words pressing him with light sarcasm.

Booker sighed and his shoulders slumped down. "I don't know, Elizabeth."

"Don't know what? What you're going to do? Or if we're parting ways?" She persisted.

"I. Don't. Know" He replied, adding a pause between each word, hoping she would drop the subject.

Elizabeth crossed her arms, and rolled her eyes at him.

"So, are you going to turn over a new leaf?"

"Hmmm? Stop gambling and drinking? Stop _killing_ people?"

"Hey, watch it…" Booker warned, his voice dropping down into a low throaty octave.

_Crack._

Relentless, Elizabeth pushed further into her interrogation.

"Is there really any decision you've made in your life that you don't regret?"

Booker didn't rise to the bait. Sometimes he was so dense, Elizabeth mused shaking her head, her soft brown hair moving slightly at the gesture. She was going to have to spell it out for him.

"If you insist on making poor choices or indulging in vices…" Elizabeth took a deep breath.

"Choose me."

Did she just see his grip on the desk tighten?

"Not this again…"Booker began. Annoyance threaded through his gruff tone the way Elizabeth wished she could thread her fingers into his.

"If this discussion makes you feel uncomfortable, you know all you have to do is answer the question to end it" she stated coolly, taking a page from Rosalind's play book. Elizabeth raised her shoulders in a casual shrug.

"Once we get out of here, tell me what happens next."

He made what sounded like a baffled grunt to her. "I told you, I. _Don't_. Know."

Elizabeth sighed; time to change the angle of her argument again.

"Okay, then. What should_ I_ do? Since you seem to be so keen on making my choices for me" she added contemptuously.

Booker's brows furrowed together in frustration, "Elizabeth, it ain't like that…"

"It's not?" she snapped at him sarcastically, her own eyebrows rising into unconvinced arches.

"Look, when we are out of here, I will take you wherever you want to go and you can do whatever you want to." Booker told her, sounding exhausted.

He was trying to appease her, and Elizabeth found his efforts endearing, but she was just getting warmed up.

_I have you now. _Her lips pulled taunt in a satisfied smile.

"I can do _whatever_ I want" she repeated the words slowly, tasting them.

"Except kiss you, right?"

Booker moved his head back and matched her "_are you serious?" _expression. He answered her sarcasm with bitterness.

"I _told _you. We are _NOT_ going to talk about this."

Elizabeth skewered him with a look.

"You. Are. Such .A. _Hypocrite" _she hissed at him.

"Do you even _hear _yourself right now?"

Elizabeth would have been pacing if she could, but with Booker leaning against the desk in the narrow hallway his long legs were in the way. She _refused_ to move around him, Elizabeth was done with doing what _he _wanted.

"I can be _anything_, but your lover." She uncrossed her arms favoring them to be at her side, her hands curled into fists.

"If I wanted to be around someone who made all my choices for me, I would have stayed in my tower! Do you know what I _despise_ just as much as being locked up?"

"Censorship. And that is _exactly _what you are doing right now. When my jailors didn't want me reading something they didn't want me to know about, they ripped out all the pages. But, it didn't change the fact that they were once there, and it _didn't _prevent me from knowing that the knowledge still existed somewhere even if it wasn't directly in front of me."

Booker patiently waited for Elizabeth to finish speaking before he quietly replied.

"You deserve better than the likes of me."

"Oh, I know." Elizabeth told him, taking him by surprise by agreeing with him. She watched a look of astonishment take hold of his face making his mouth open slightly.

_Crack._

_Expecting me to disagree with you, Mr. DeWitt? Guess again._

"I'm not disputing _everything_ you say…" she said nonchalantly, before pointing her own finger at him.

"_BUT, _your conviction is paper thin." Elizabeth didn't know where all the words came from, but they flooded her body with adrenaline and made the volatile writhing inside of her heart sing.

He glowered at her, his mouth shaping into the word "no." But before the word made it past his lips she interrupted him.

"Booker, shut up."

For a moment she thought that he wouldn't listen to her, but he was blessedly silent. His lips pressed together into a hard tight line.

_I want that mouth. Let's see you scowl when I'm kissing you. _

"You had your turn to lecture me back in Plaza Prosperity, and now you will listen to what_ I _have to say."

Elizabeth jerked her thumb towards her chest to further emphasize her point.

"You _were _right. About a lot of things…"she took a deep breath.

"However, you're only telling me half of the story, _but_ lucky for me I've spent my whole life putting puzzles together." Elizabeth would prove to him that there was nothing he could hide from her; she just needed him to admit it.

"You claim that because you liberated me from my tower that it paints you in an overly favorable light, and that's why I'm attached to you. Hmpf. That might have been true if you had taken me to Paris in the _first_ place."

"We both know how _that_ worked out." She stated fuming.

Elizabeth tilted her head. "But, you didn't. And if you think that for one second that just because I decide to forgive someone means that I forget, you are sorely mistaken."

"Unlike _you_, I have no desire for denial to become the primary emotion that I feel in life. I forget _nothing _Booker…including how I feel about you," her voice started to wobble like the spin-able globe sitting outside in the deserted foyer of the Lutece lab.

"Do you know how cruel even _one_ single kiss can be?"

Booker sucked in a breath of air. "Elizabeth…" his voice sounded like he had gravel in his mouth.

"I am _so_ sorry…"

_Crack._

"I know," Elizabeth replied softly, but she would give him no respite. She couldn't…it hurt too much.

"But once something is done, it cannot be undone. You're the one who told me that."

"God damn it Elizabeth, that ain't fair."

_Crack._

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, staring him down.

"So is being locked up inside a tower for two decades," she retorted ruthlessly.

"You done?" Booker asked her, his green eyes flashing with the first genuine stirrings of anger.

_Good._

Elizabeth didn't care which emotion Booker showed her, she just needed to see that he felt something…anything.

"NO, I am not" she said stubbornly, the sound of her front teeth clicking together made her words sharp.

"Then make your fucking point," he spat back at her. His voice raised just the tiniest bit. Booker countered Elizabeth's defiance with defensiveness as they played their twisted game of emotional Chess.

It was subtle change, but Elizabeth noticed it right away.

"The point is that contrary to your opinion of me, I am _not_ ignorant to the kind of man you are. I know…"

"That still doesn't change a God damn thing," Booker snapped, immediately cutting her off.

Elizabeth clenched her hands so hard that her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. It felt like being backhanded.

"Fine! Then just _what_ am I to you anyway?" She asked him scornfully.

For the first time in their argument Elizabeth saw one of Booker's hands let go of its death grip on the desk. Booker closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his bandaged hand like he had the worst headache in the world.

"_Who_. Elizabeth." He told her opening his eyes, and letting his arm fall limply to the side.

She frowned at him, and Booker sighed in exasperation.

"You're a _who_ Elizabeth, not a _what." _

His words made Elizabeth hold her breath and swallow back her tears. Booker DeWitt, the gambler, the drinker, the killer, the brute, was once again the first and _only _person in the whole world to acknowledge her humanity.

_Then why won't you let yourself see me as a woman?_

"Then answer the question," was all she said.

The conflicted look that she had just suddenly exercised from him wrecked his face with ripples of anger, guilt, and…desire.

_Check mate._

The air between them wavered, and would have burned Elizabeth to ashes with embarrassment and fear if she hadn't let the basic primal need for physical contact possess her like a demon.

She remembered his tongue in her mouth, licking, tasting, teasing, searching, and the slow ache of arousal his hands had ignited everywhere he touched her. Elizabeth wanted all the things she did not know, she desperately coveted after his emotional vulnerability, and his denial of it enraged her. The vices of lust, greed, and wrath had woven her tumultuous feelings into a strangely poetic ménage á trios that urged her not to give up.

_I have needs too Booker. _

_My name is Legion for we are many. _

"You…are… a person that I…don't want to be without." Booker answered her slowly, his tongue awkwardly stuttering around the words.

Hands on her hips, Elizabeth shook her head at him.

_How does he do that?_

Elizabeth wondered as she watched the expression on Booker's face cycle through his emotions to morph into a defensive mask again as he crossed his arms protectively against his chest. Better defensive than indifferent, a little voice whispered inside her head. Once again, she was forced to change her tactics.

"Okay. So, if it was me that was injured instead of you," she started to say, gesturing with her hands at his chest, implying the horrible wound that nearly killed him if she hadn't been there to resuscitate him and sow him back together.

"If it was _my_ life that was bleeding out on the pavement, you'd do everything you could to fix me, right?"

"Yeah," Booker replied hesitating, sensing a trap.

"Well, I am _dying_ on the inside right now. Emotionally, my chest is ripped wide open and every time my heart beats it feels like I am being flayed alive" Elizabeth told him with grim conviction.

"And there is _nothing _I can do to stop it. So, as far as I'm concerned, sex is just a formality between us."

Booker visibly flinched at her words.

"Still doesn't change anything," he whispered stubbornly.

"You _keep_ saying that! Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?" Elizabeth yelled ferociously, her voice cracking like a whip.

"Look, I care about you alright!" Booker shouted back at her. His wild eyes shining with angry tears that refused to fall.

"Isn't that _enough_?" he continued his voice dropping into a quiet, but raw emotional whisper.

_Crack._

"No it isn't," Elizabeth replied gently, her throat tight with the tears she was desperately trying to hold back.

"Elizabeth…I…I can't give you what I don't have." Booker told her finally; looking hopelessly lost.

"I know, but you do have _something _and whatever that may be, I want it." Elizabeth admitted.

She had come into the Lutece lab chasing ghosts. Instead she was just chasing emotions, and Booker's were slipping right through her fingers like phantoms.

"No…" he sighed, looking at the floor.

"No you don't," Booker repeated, this time looking up at her.

She inhaled a shaking breath.

"Booker, this isn't about my inexperience or potential physical discomfort. I…"

She could do this.

"I know that you don't want me to realize that…that my pain will...my pain will make you feel good. That's what all this fighting is _really_ about. It's not so much that I'll hurt, but it's the fact that you can't always control what…what your body is doing. Simple biology will compel you to enjoy, even seek out my…_discomfort_."

The occasional crackle of electricity from the Lutece tear machine, and their breathing were the only sounds that occupied the narrow hallway. Elizabeth wiped her sweating palms against her blue dress; butterflies were fluttering around in her stomach frantically.

"Please say something…"

The moment she said it, Elizabeth wished she hadn't. Somehow she knew that her breaking the silence first was a mistake.

A lazy half smile made Booker's mouth twitch as he gently shook his head at her, a few strands of hair falling in front of his face.

"Simple biology," he repeated back, tasting the words, rolling them inside his mouth. His posture slouched against the desk a little deeper.

Elizabeth suddenly felt ill.

"That's one way of puttin' it." Booker stated casually, with familiar detachment creeping back into his voice.

That was it. She was done. Other than screaming at him, Elizabeth couldn't think of another logical thing to say.

_Damn it._

She had lost control of the situation, when she was_ so_ close in getting him to admit to himself that he wanted her. Elizabeth threw her hands up in the air. She couldn't break through all his defenses after all. There was only one option left to her, but the idea of unexpectedly stealing a kiss from Booker left her with a bitter aftertaste. She didn't want to look like some desperate girl. She wanted to beat the facade of indifference right off his face. Elizabeth wanted to hurt him, and make _sure_ he knew just how pissed she was at him.

It would be a cheap shot, but Elizabeth was fed up with trying to be polite with him.

The words were already out of her mouth before the thoughts had even fully formed in her head.

"If my pain is your pleasure, then congratulations, your performance has been _exceptional_," she seethed, grabbing a firm hold on his red neck tie.

The wave of pleasure Elizabeth felt when she struck him across the face with her right hand was unexpected. The physicality of Booker's flesh and facial stubble against her open palm made her hand and fingers tingle. She wasn't exceptionally strong, but she had used her hold on Booker's neck tie for leverage. The narrow hallway and with him slouching, it gave her the perfect opportunity to hit him, and Elizabeth had capitalized on it. She put all of her frustration and rage into the blow.

She still held on to his neck tie, Elizabeth used it to jerk his head back so she could look at him in the face. The tip of Booker's tongue slowly passed over his bottom lip. There was a cut in the middle of the soft pink flesh, weeping blood where her thimble had split it open. He gazed up at her though an uneven lock of brown hair.

Elizabeth matched his scorching stare with one of her own, when she leaned in closer.

"I hope it was _everything_ you'd fantasized about," she breathed the words against his skin spitefully. Elizabeth's delicate jawline tensed as she ground her teeth together when she moved her face away from his.

"So _fuck _you, Booker DeWitt," she cursed him maddened with rage, her right hand flying towards his face to hit him a second time.

Cat-quick, just before her hand crashed into the side of his face, Booker had seized her slender wrist, enfolding it in a grip as tight and unyielding as iron. The tips of her fingers just barely brushed against the bristly sandpaper surface of his skin.

Elizabeth couldn't stop the sharp gasp that escaped her mouth when she felt his fingers press though thin, delicate skin to wrap around bone. Her wide blue eyes remained riveted to Booker's face. Raw adrenaline passed between them, racing through his fingers to thrill the fragile bones inside her wrist. Watching the fierce surge of emotion flood his green eyes was like observing an eclipse…rare… beautiful… and terrifying.

Booker's emotional walls hadn't shattered.

They _melted._

Elizabeth had been wrong.

Her breath caught in her throat, as Elizabeth lost herself in the greens and gold of his irises.

There wasn't a heart hidden underneath all those stubborn layers of prickly indifference.

There was a furnace.

* * *

**AN: Well, that escalated quickly. ;) **

**What can I say? I just love Elizabeth calling Booker out on his bullshit. So many feels. :)**

**Anyway, don't trip out over the ending too much, I'm already working on the next chapter. I won't leave you guys hanging for too long. And trust me, you want to stick around to find out what happens next. ;)**

**ALSO, my creative muse has inspired me to do a re-write of Bioshock Infinite's ending, so that is the road we are heading down in the long run. I'm actually super excited to flesh out the idea and write it.**

**The song that Elizabeth & Booker hear through the tear is: Garbage, Use Me. (It's really pretty, would you kindly give it a listen?)**

**Thanks everyone for reading!**


	6. Is this real?

**AN: Hey, everyone! I tried to get this chapter done asap, and it was exhausting, but fun to write. I hope I didn't keep you hanging too long. ;) Far warning, this a long chapter and it gets REALLY graphic. There is extremely rough anal sex involved that borderlines safety and consent issues, so if that sort of smut will upset you, please stay away from this chapter! The rest of you enjoy the giant pitcher of lemonade.**

* * *

_Simple biology…_

Those two words were _the_ most delicate statement Booker had ever heard to describe wanting to fuck someone. If anyone but Elizabeth had said it, and if his emotions weren't threatening to consume them both, Booker would have been doubled over in laughter. Even with that in mind, the side of his face still managed to twitch its way into an ironic half smile. Booker could handle "logical" Elizabeth, and that was where she had made her misstep with him. Talking to him like that was like an effective mental castration. She had banished his desire into a cold, dark place as far as it could go.

Booker's posture had slouched down even further against the table he was leaning on as he felt himself slide back into control of the argument. Everything was fine. He could deal with the situation. Well…that's what he initially thought, until Elizabeth had unpredictably turned on a dime, and slapped him across the face. The girl could hit pretty hard. The left side of his face was still tingling from the impact.

He remembered that the last woman who had ever dared to raise a hand against him was his own mother. It was right after he broke the news to her that he decided to join the military at the tender age of sixteen. She never said a single word, and she didn't have to. Booker never once forgot what that slap felt like.

It was a loud and blunt message, warning him that he was being _really _stupid.

He had it all under control.

Just when Booker's arrogance had firmly established itself, he was confronted with the brutal truth that he knew _nothing._ In an odd way it felt like being at Wounded Knee for the first time. He had been such a young fool back then.

Booker _thought_ he knew what Elizabeth was all about. How dangerous could one little girl be? That little girl was a grown woman who could rip apart reality with her fingers. Just how complicated could the feelings of a woman raised in solitary confinement be?

_Young fool then, old fool now, _Booker privately mocked.

_Sure_, he had her figured out.

That was before Elizabeth had hit him.

That was before the familiar metallic tang of violence touched the tip of his tongue.

That was before she cursed him, and set his blood on fire more readily than Devil's Kiss.

In that instant she had ripped apart his comfortable apathy to shreds, and settled for summoning one of his most bitter memories, which allowed a torrent of Booker's emotions to come flooding to the surface. When Elizabeth's hand went sailing for his face the second time, Booker had caught her wrist in mid-motion before she could land the blow. His reflexes were hardwired and conditioned by a lifetime of violence. Once Elizabeth struck him, she had caused the high strung predatory knot that lived inside his gut to uncoil into a leisurely stretch.

It was only Elizabeth's smell that prevented Booker's instincts from reacting to her as a physical threat. He inhaled the gentle scent of flowers coming from her hair, and the faint aroma of sweat on her skin. When Booker's fingers had curled around her narrow wrist an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction had abruptly washed over him. He heard Elizabeth's breathing become irregular, as her lungs struggled to take in air when his grip tightened. Booker's heartbeat thunderously pounded from the center of his ribcage and down into the floor as he watched the vivid blush that suddenly emerged from her skin, spreading across the inviting and dappled surface of her chest.

Elizabeth was standing so close to him that nearly all of Booker's senses were consumed with the sight, smell, sound, and touch of her. He glanced down very briefly and saw that Elizabeth held on to his necktie, the red fabric was still clutched between her slender fingers. Raw instinct immediately perceived that both of Elizabeth's hands were committed, while he still had a one free. The realization was sharp and sweet. It made Booker's blood sing inside his veins as it surged throughout his body like a shot of adrenaline straight to the center of his groin.

Booker unconsciously inhaled a deep draught of air when his gaze returned to Elizabeth's blue eyes. He observed all the subtle nuances that rippled across Elizabeth's face as her expression changed. Booker watched and waited for realization of what she had done to hit her as hard as she had struck him, while every part of his body began to ache at the unexpected awareness of her presence seeping down into the marrow of his bones.

It didn't take long. Elizabeth was a quick study, and now, he was practically sweating out every damn emotion he had tried to keep her from stirring up inside him. Her pupils dilated wider, making the golden ring around it almost disappear as it was swallowed by the sea of blue that dominated those fascinating eyes of hers.

_See what you did? Are you happy now?_

Booker telegraphed the message to Elizabeth with his own eyes. The anger he saw in her face had vanished, but she didn't flinch away from him. Elizabeth held on to her defiance like a drowning man would cling to a life raft caught in the middle of a hurricane. But, when she looked back at him there was no triumph or joy in her face. Elizabeth just saw right through him, and Booker had no idea what compelled her to _still _want him in spite of it. Her intense blue eyes continued to glare at him with emotions just as fierce and complex as Booker's own desires.

He didn't understand Elizabeth's feelings towards him at all; he only knew what they did to him. Her emotions called to Booker like thunder chasing after a flash of lightning. It made him conscious of the fact that the only sense that Elizabeth hadn't filled to bursting yet was taste…

The memory of her warm flesh underneath his mouth made Booker salivate. He never once took his eyes off Elizabeth's face while he dexterously pried open her fingers with his free hand. When his red necktie fell back against his chest Booker had both of her wrists firmly enclosed in his large hands. He felt a slight tremor run down the length of Elizabeth's arms as he pulled them further apart, exposing her vulnerable throat and chest. Her quiet intake of breath was barely audible, but Booker heard it clearly as a gun fired at close range. His mouth urgently sought hers.

Their lips finally came together in the most torturous of touches. Booker felt the slick surface of Elizabeth's teeth sharply nip at his tongue as she opened her mouth for him when he forced it past the moist surface of her full lips. It was a spiteful and arousing reproach to his impatient and somewhat brutish kiss. Like a cat springing forward to make its final rush at the prey it had been patiently stalking for hours, all of the muscles in Booker's body that had been drawn taut with tension released in a heady rush of adrenaline as he propelled them forward. When the back of Elizabeth's head slammed against the wall in the narrow hallway she exhaled into Booker's open mouth.

_Christ…_

She tasted sweeter than sugar on his tongue, and the heat of her breath burned the back of his throat better than a shot of whiskey. Booker's mouth moved into an aggressive slant directly over hers as he pressed the soft flesh of their lips together hard enough to bruise.

"More," he growled, the word vibrating down her throat.

Booker moved his lips angrily over the velvety textures of Elizabeth's mouth, demanding that she open it wider so he could deepen the kiss and taste more of her. She was still reeling from being suddenly thrown against a wall. The sharp pain at the base of her skull bathed Elizabeth in overwhelming sensations of vertigo, but her head tilted back all the same. The muscles in her pale neck strained into a beautiful arch in response to the merciless and greedy ministrations of Booker's mouth. Everywhere in her body little fires were being lit. Tension danced down her wrists where he pinned her arms to the wall, and she drank down the heat that came pouring out his mouth to fill her chest and set her heart on fire. Elizabeth stroked her tongue across his in a slow and calculated motion.

The hairs on the nape of Booker's neck stood on end when she started to kiss him back. He automatically tightened his grip on Elizabeth's wrists, as he blindly fought the wild urge to smash his body against hers. Another sensuous lick on the underside of his tongue made Booker's broad frame shudder and lean forward. She breathed around his tongue, sucking him further into the wetness of her mouth, a provocative and delicious innuendo. Elizabeth swirled her own tongue around him playfully, and Booker instinctively tried to pin it down with his own, only to have her dart away at the last moment.

He was finally kissing her, and she _still _argued with him.

A little frustrated, Booker intrusively pushed his tongue against hers, and Elizabeth slithered her own around his, daring to stroke the smooth surface of his front teeth before retreating back to the safety of her own mouth. The more he tried to maintain control of the kiss the more ground Elizabeth gained, and the closer his body inched forward to press against hers. When Booker felt the front of his pants just ever so slightly brush against the fabric of Elizabeth's dress a another fresh wave of lust threatened to drown him.

Booker couldn't breathe anymore, and the continuous engorgement of blood to his already well swollen member not only made his pants painfully tight, it felt like every surge of excitement that wracked through his body was cracking and peeling his very skin open. The fusion of physical and emotional needs overwhelmed Booker just as easily as he overpowered his enemies with the combination of firepower and Vigors.

_I am losing control_…

He abruptly turned his head to the side in a final effort to give himself a breath of respite, but Elizabeth bit down on his lower lip when he tried to move away. Booker could feel a wet trickle of blood emerging from the plump flesh of his mouth as Elizabeth's teeth reopened the cut her thimble had made.

"_God DAMN it_," he cursed softly against Elizabeth's open mouth, just before she slipped her tongue past his lips, eating his words with a hungry kiss.

She moved her mouth across his bleeding lip like silk. Her wet tongue caressed the open wound, and Booker could taste the copper hints of his own blood as she made out him. Their kissing became a dialogue, and her persistence wore him down. Little fingers of electricity suddenly raked down his spine as an agonizing shiver stole over him. Elizabeth's movements where never hurried, but they were intense and she gave him a lot of tongue. It drove him crazy.

_Keep kissing me like that…_

Elizabeth's kisses were messages, and they drowned Booker in a river of raw need. Her desire for him was a thousand times more addictive and potent than all of his vices combined. She ran her tongue along the roof of his mouth, making his skin tingle and the fine hair on his arms stand on end.

_Touch me, _the kiss demanded. _I want to_…he answered licking the underside of her tongue.

Elizabeth sucked his lower lip, shaping his breath into loud and heavy gasps as he panted.

_Taste me,_ she said. _I am baby…_Booker replied, capturing her lips with his teeth in an eager nibble.

Her tongue purposefully dipped in and out of his mouth.

_Take me._

_Oh, God…_Booker shuddered against those sweet lips.

Elizabeth plunged her tongue farther into the hot space of Booker's mouth.

_Take me._

_I want to…_Booker thought, squeezing her tiny wrists in his calloused hands.

The tips of their tongues met, before twisting around each other in a needy and angry exchange.

_I want to._

Elizabeth led Booker's tongue back towards her own mouth as they continued to kiss. He hesitated at the invitation, feeling lost and powerless.

_Losing control? Pfft. You didn't have any control to lose you old fool. _The bitter part of Booker's temperament scoffed at himself. Her tongue poked at his, and when she led him into the wet open space of her mouth, Booker followed her lead.

_Take me._

_I need to. _His tongue whispered as it glided past her teeth.

The small of Elizabeth's back began to arch ever so slightly, as he passionately kissed her back. Booker withdrew his tongue only to plunge it back inside her waiting mouth, each time pushing it a little deeper. She briefly flicked her tongue around him as it pulled back.

_Take me?_

Booker pushed as far back into Elizabeth's mouth as he could, his strong tongue straining to tickle the back of her throat.

_I will._

He released his grip on Elizabeth's wrists letting his hands fall loosely to his side. Booker reluctantly pulled his face away from her soft mouth as he struggled to breathe. The two of them simultaneously sucked in a giant gasp of air as they panted. Frozen in mid-air Elizabeth's hands awkwardly hovered in front of her body. Long dark eye lashes fluttered as she blinked a few times in disbelief as if seeing her appendages for the first time.

As he watched the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest through feral green eyes, Booker found it endearing that Elizabeth didn't quite know what to do with her hands. He knew _exactly _what he wanted to do with his. Booker wanted to slide them between her thighs to feel if she was wet.

The white cuffs of Elizabeth's jacket were pushed back behind her elbows, and the marks on the pale skin around her wrists were nearly an identical shade of red as his necktie. Her blue eyes widened as she examined them.

_Best get used to it, baby doll, because if you really want me, you're gonna be seeing that color a lot._

Even in the cramped hallway of the Lutece labs, the light was a hell of a lot better than the dark alley in Plaza Prosperity, and his eyes shamelessly drank in all the details of Elizabeth's petite figure that the darkness had obscured. Lady Comstock's dress hugged her body tightly revealing the supple curves that Elizabeth's previous outfit had disguised. She was high breasted with a tiny waist that gently expanded down into her hips. But, it was the smaller details that interested him the most. He never noticed that the light smattering of freckles that went across Elizabeth's nose and cheeks matched the ones that marked her chest. The assortment of light and dark brown spots reminded Booker of spilled cinnamon.

Elizabeth's tiny hands hovered near that inviting, generous expanse of bare skin. Her fingers twitched as a fine tremor shook her. Her breasts frequently pressed against the low neckline of her corset as she drew one ragged breath after the other. Booker could easily recognize the signs of fear just as most folks knew their own names. He could practically feel waves of anxiety radiating off Elizabeth's body.

That was good. It meant that she _finally_ understood what she was getting herself into. But, Elizabeth bravely tilted her head back and looked him in the eye.

_I want you naked and moaning._

Booker's private thoughts about Elizabeth were as coarse as burlap and he didn't try to hide them. They scorched her skin, and made her slight frame shake even more. So, when those delicate hands of hers reached out for him, Booker felt like he'd been sucker punched in the kidneys. Elizabeth slipped her skinny arms through his, wrapping them around his midsection and pulled him into a tight embrace. Booker's nerves pulsated with raw animalistic joy when his body made contact with Elizabeth's as she hugged him close, burying her face in his chest. But, even as his heart raced it also felt like it was made of lead, and the bottom had just dropped out on his long descent into the dark oubliette of guilt. Booker wished he could save her from himself, but the way she _wanted_ him felt too damn good to resist. He kissed the top of her head as he wove his fingers through the downy strands of her brown hair. Booker breathed deep, inhaling the intoxicating scent that was hers alone as he sighed.

_Oh God, Elizabeth…I don't understand you at all. _He realized helplessly, as he tugged on her hair. Elizabeth lifted her head and tilted it back in response to his firm pulling. She rose on her tip toes, leaning forward in a sweet effort to kiss him, but before her lips could reach his, Booker tightened the grip he had on her hair and pulled her face away from his. She tried again, and again. But, whenever that wonderful mouth of hers moved closer to his, Booker would wind his fingers through her hair and yank back. It was a cruel little game, but seeing the frustrated, wanton, and infuriated expression on Elizabeth's face every time he did it made him hard. Booker's right hand went behind her waist to cradle the small of her back, pushing her towards him while he simultaneously pressed himself into her. Booker's hips slightly tilted forward, enjoying the blissful agony he experienced whenever his erection rubbed against Elizabeth's lower abdomen. He released a shaking breath as his eyes partially closed when he felt her hip bones move into him. When the warmth of her breath fell across his face, Booker pulled Elizabeth's hair down hard enough to make her gasp.

_Trying to pull one over on me, eh? _Booker thought with wicked amusement as he opened his eyes. Elizabeth scowled at him with such fury, he found himself grinning from ear to ear. It was a brief and seductive flash of white teeth, and it made her squirm against him.

"Patience is a virtue," he scoffed, his voice an intimate and mocking whisper.

She struggled against the twitching muscles in her face, but in the end Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from smiling back at him. They weren't even fucking yet, but he listened to her exasperated sigh with more pleasure than he imaged possible.

"And _you_ are such a…" Elizabeth began to say before Booker cut off her words with a sharp kiss.

_What? Bastard? Monster? I am any insult you can think of baby doll, and then some._ Booker mused as he finally gave Elizabeth her head.

Her hands squeezed his upper arms and ran down his chest, pausing to tug his vest as Elizabeth kissed him in earnest. Booker had both of his hands resting on the crest of her hips. Booker's fingers lightly gripped the coutil fabric of her corset, while his thumbs rubbed the soft velvet of her dress. Every time their tongues met, she pushed herself against his hips, making him groan. Elizabeth's long sensual kisses gradually transformed into something wilder as their mouths moved together… lips wet, teeth nipping, and tongues grappling. Thoughts drifted further and further away as their bodies grinded into each other in primal desperation.

_Jesus Christ…this is actually happening._

A still small voice whispered inside Booker's head. His brain was still functioning, but _barely_. He reeled under the effects of hyper acute sensory overload. Elizabeth had intoxicated him within a hazy cocoon of laziness just like alcohol did, except in the place of emotional numbness there was only his need for her. Booker couldn't deal with it anymore. He needed to surround himself with her flesh.

_Elizabeth…_

Breathing hard, Booker broke the kiss. His broad chest heaved with the massive effort to draw in every last bit of air that he could. When he opened his eyes he saw that in their kissing Elizabeth's hands had become more adventurous as she let herself be swept away in the urgency of the moment. Instead of his tie or the lapels of his vest, it was his waist band that she held on to. Paper white, he could see the pronounced bones of Elizabeth's knuckles protruding through the thin skin of her hands as she gripped the top of his pants.

When she kissed him again…Booker knew that he couldn't survive another round with her. He would be stripping the clothes off her body faster than they could blink.

With his thumbs, Booker could feel Elizabeth's pulse hammering hard at the base of her throat, as he cradled the sides of her slender neck with his palms. His long fingers slipped underneath the fabric of her choker to stroke the skin beneath it. Apparently, his hands had done some migrating as well. Booker didn't remember moving them at all.

_That's because you're still thinking too much._

Booker admitted to himself that he was still struggling with the rapid escalation of the situation. He was still fighting against the changes in his relationship with Elizabeth, and he was tired; so very _tired._ Elizabeth was right when she said that sex was just a formality between them. All of his protesting was an effort in futility. Burying the feelings he had for her was like trying to claim sobriety when there was nothing in his apartment but countless empty bottles of booze and losing tickets for placing one bet too many. As they floated in a sea of emotional mercury there was nothing Booker could offer her, but brutal honesty.

When those big blue eyes looked back at him, he saw confidence in them. Since the first time Booker kissed her up to this moment, he saw maturity in them. Elizabeth's desire had emerged from the depths of her amazing heart as a beautiful, complicated, monstrosity that didn't want, but _demanded_ that he give her his _everything. _Booker nuzzled her, rubbing his mouth along the column of Elizabeth's smooth neck to the hollow of her throat directly below her brooch. He licked her there, tasting the salt of her skin, and feeling her pulse jump underneath his tongue. Booker dragged his soft, wet lips over her collar bone. He felt the distinctive shape of her clavicle beneath his teeth, heart pounding, Booker opened his mouth wider and bit down.

He was rewarded with a provocative gasp from Elizabeth as her delicate frame shuddered against him deliciously.

_She's so sweet and receptive, but…_

Even as fierce and confidant as Elizabeth seemed to be, she still was a virgin. That couldn't stop him anymore, not now and yet... Booker felt the sudden urge to say something to her. He couldn't explain why, but Booker just couldn't let himself go until he put words to the crude and harsh reality of what was about to happen to her.

Booker placed his bandaged hand against Elizabeth's sternum, and took a step back from her. Her hands fell away from his waist band as he pushed back. Booker didn't move too far away from her, just enough to create some breathing room between them. He wasn't rejecting her. He was giving her a reality check. Booker leaned his face down, making the effort to be at eye level with her when he spoke.

"You will bleed, you will hurt, and you _will_ want me to stop…but I won't."

He leaned in towards Elizabeth a little closer, carefully watching her facial expressions.

"Your sex is mine, your ass is mine, your mouth is mine…_every square inch of you is mine_," his words were a hot strike of heat across her face. Booker could feel Elizabeth's life pounding furiously beneath his hand where he firmly held her against the wall, as if her very heart was struggling to escape the ribcage that contained it.

"And make no mistake, I _will _fuck you straight into the carpet until your flesh is raw, and there is _nothing_ left of you." The last few words came out as a rough, gravely whisper as Booker's breath caught in his throat. His stubbly Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a buoy floating in a turbulent sea when he tried to swallow past the unexpected dryness that filled his mouth.

Booker didn't have much time to anticipate how Elizabeth would react to such a blunt confession, because he was too preoccupied with the whiplash he was experiencing as Elizabeth struck him across the face for the second time that day. Elizabeth didn't have as much leverage over him like last time, so it didn't sting nearly as bad. But, she _did_ take him by surprise and pleasantly so. Booker felt the corners of his mouth tug into a genuine smile. His right hand fell away from Elizabeth's chest. As he backed off, Booker admired the bright red indents that his bandage had made into her porcelain skin.

_A lioness after all; _he reflected, completely charmed by the diminutive and inexplicably complicated young woman in front of him.

"I know," Elizabeth responded with an intimate whisper of her own.

She may look fragile on the outside, but the woman had hickory at her core. You could bend her six ways til' Sunday, but Elizabeth's spirit wouldn't break. Booker admired that and respected it. It made her even sexier. It made her precious.

_Come here, baby…_

Booker extended his arm towards her, offering her his right hand. He had the strangest sense of déjà vu when she placed her small hand into his large one. It felt like being back at the Finkton Docks, where Elizabeth had pulled him off the blimp she had used to save his life from a Handyman, when she first very reluctantly agreed to their partnership. Now, it was _him_ pulling her in, and there wasn't a question between them, only certainty.

_Partners? Partners._

Hand in hand he pulled Elizabeth close to his chest, dipping his head down to kiss her. She sighed softly and contentedly, a wonderful vibration across his lips, before opening her mouth wide for his tongue. Booker let all of his thoughts go, because they didn't matter anymore. Nothing else existed except Elizabeth, her taste, her smell, her sounds, and the touch of her body pressing into his. There would be no more thinking, just _feeling_; only blood, and sweat, and maybe even tears drowning in a river of mercury.

_Lovers…_

She wrapped her arms around the hard wall of muscle that composed Booker's broad chest, savoring the warmth that radiated off his body. Elizabeth didn't know what possessed her to slap him again. It just seemed like the appropriate response to all the frightening and gritty details he had just alluded to. Then Booker had smiled at her like the devil himself, and when he offered her his hand, Elizabeth's heart soared. It was simultaneously the most wonderful and wicked feeling she had ever experienced. Now, he was kissing her slow and deep, and…

A startled cry flew out of her mouth like a bird, when he spun them around and she felt the edge of the desk in the hallway dig into the small of her back. But, the pain was quickly forgotten when Booker picked her up by the waist, sitting her down on its small and cluttered surface. Elizabeth's hands pressed down on the buttons of a type writer just directly behind her. The cool and smooth surface of the metal was a startling contrast to the heat coming off of Booker's hands as they slid up the sides of her corset to rest on her narrow shoulders. He captured her mouth in another long and dizzy kiss making her whimper. She pushed her tongue past his teeth in response, her mouth moving in a wet and lazy rhythm.

_Oh, my God. Is this real?_

Elizabeth marveled, tipping her head back, offering Booker her neck. His stubble grazed her skin like sandpaper, as his mouth glided down her neck, lapping at the soft flesh. She felt her eyelids grow heavy from the heady fog of pleasure that came from the scalding licks Booker made with his tongue swiftly followed by a sharp bite. Elizabeth moaned softly when his teeth sunk into her skin.

_This is real._

Everything still had a surreal quality to it, the buzz of electricity from the machine in the lab, the type writer, the lamp, even the gold patterns on the red wall paper wobbled a little. She felt completely boneless in Booker's arms, and it was hard to remain upright when all she wanted to do was ooze into a limp puddle on the floor. Only the strength of Booker's fingers vigorously kneading her shoulders and arms held her together. Elizabeth pushed the type writer off to the side, and scooted herself further back so her spine was supported by the wall. Now, she shared the desk's small surface with both the lamp and the type writer. Only someone as little as she was could pull that off without knocking one thing or another down to the floor. With her hands free, the first thing she did was run them through Booker's hair. It was surprisingly softer than she anticipated, and that made her smile dreamily…until a very sharp bite around the bone of her left shoulder made her gasp.

When Elizabeth glanced down she saw that Booker had her jacket partially off. He nuzzled and kissed the place where he bit her, looking at her with dark green eyes as if to say, _"You know what I want."_ She wasn't a mind reader, but if she had to guess, Elizabeth assumed that he wanted to take her jacket off; which she was inadvertently preventing with her arms around his head. She ran her fingers through Booker's hair, ruffling it; before she let her arms fall to her side so he could remove the article of clothing.

"Don't give me that look. I just wanted to play with your hair," Elizabeth stated indignantly, with the barest of smiles, feeling both shy and playful at the same time.

The half-hearted reprimand made Booker smile. For someone so inexperienced she was handling the awkward beginning stages of taking a lover for the first time with a remarkably good sense of humor. He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose, as he slid his hands around her shoulders memorizing the shape and feel of the sharp bones, before pulling down the other side of her jacket. Booker picked one of Elizabeth's arms up, peeling it out of the tight sleeve.

"I will look at you, however I want to," he whispered, still smiling.

"Touché," Elizabeth replied, as he tugged the sleeve of her jacket off her other arm.

That was _three times_ now she made him smile, and it was enough to fill her heart with joy and calm her nerves. Booker laid Elizabeth's jacket over the type writer, tossing his head off to one side to get the hair out of his eyes.

"Only you…" He mumbled with amusement, looking at Elizabeth as she perched on the desk. There wasn't enough room left on the sparse surface to place a pencil. It really was too bad it wasn't nearly sturdy enough for what he had in mind.

So, Booker _had_ noticed how she managed to fully sit back on the small desk. That made Elizabeth smile at him, as she affectionately took his face in both of her hands, pulling him down so she could kiss him. Her mouth brushed against his stubble first, before she met the remarkably soft, almost silky surface of his lips. Elizabeth didn't think she would ever tire of kissing him. Whenever his mouth moved together with hers it felt like trying to swallow the sun. He set her heart to racing and transmuted her blood into fire all the way down to her toes. Booker placed his hands on her thighs, and she griped the hardened muscle of his biceps in response. It was a lovely way to burn.

_Is this real?_

Even through all the fabric of her skirts, Booker squeezed her legs hard enough to bruise. Elizabeth welcomed the sensation because it reminded her that she wasn't really dreaming after all. When his hands slowly moved up her body, they cruelly pinched her skin right through her cloths. Elizabeth's head fell back as she moaned from the overwhelming sensation. Booker's fingers followed the boning in her corset all the way up to her breasts. When he placed his hands over the sensitive mounds of flesh, the space between her legs immediately throbbed. The soft clicking noises of the eyelets of her corset being undone made her squirm in anticipation. Girlish shyness made Elizabeth want to squeeze her eyes shut, but maddening curiosity compelled her to keep them open and watch. Either way she was horribly self-conscious because Booker would be taking note and judging her on what she decided to do.

At least that's what it felt like for her. Elizabeth didn't feel awkward at all when Booker did it the first time, but there was _considerably_ less light back in that alleyway. But, the real reason for her sudden and agonizing feeling of insecurity was because of that damn poster. It never occurred to her to feel embarrassed about her body in Plaza Prosperity, and that was because it hadn't dawned on her yet that she wouldn't be the first woman Booker had undressed. Elizabeth would have been fine with the thought of imagining him with his wife, _but_ she would have been just plain _stupid_ to think that his wife was his _only_ partner.

An experienced woman wouldn't care, but she _wasn't _experienced. Elizabeth wanted to close her eyes, but she didn't dare. Just because she wasn't experienced that didn't mean she couldn't be mature about it. Unfortunately, she just _couldn't_ look Booker in the eye as he undressed her. But, she could compromise. Elizabeth settled on watching those beautiful hands of his that she adored unhook the eyelets of her corset, instead of looking at his face.

Normally, she would be wearing a chemise underneath her corset, but Elizabeth had to leave hers behind on the First Lady airship, because it had been completely saturated with Daisy Fitzroy's blood. So, there was nothing between her sensitive skin and the constricting garment's rigid boning. Even undoing a single clasp brought a euphoric sense of relief to Elizabeth's midsection. When Booker's slender fingers unhooked the third clasp she watched the flesh of her breasts evenly spread across her chest. Even without being stimulated her nipples were unusually prominent, the buds that were placed in the center of significantly smaller, elliptical areolas made them appear erect even when they were still soft. Horrified, Elizabeth watched bright uneven pink splotches of color blossom across the white surface of her chest as she blushed.

Booker undid one more eyelet before reaching around Elizabeth's back to loosen the corset's laces. Once that was done, he pulled and manipulated the garment so her entire chest was exposed, but he didn't completely remove it. Elizabeth wondered why, but was too nervous to ask. As if sensing her insecurity, one of his hands firmly grasped her jaw, moving her head up. She tried to resist, but Booker's fingers curled around her small chin like a steel trap, forcing her to look him in the face. Elizabeth shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

There was fire burning behind his green eyes as he stared at her.

"You are _perfect_," Booker told her heatedly. He leaned his body into hers, a warm and pleasant masculine weight that protectively hovered over her smaller form. Elizabeth felt the fabric of his clothes and the toughened leather of his holsters mold into her naked flesh.

"Do you believe me?" he asked, the words rumbling across her lips.

Elizabeth lost herself in the depths of his green eyes when she looked back at him. They were portals into the dark forests of Grimm Brothers fairytales, where lean hungry wolves prowled through its haunted depths searching for the plump flesh of little girls in red capes. Well, she was no child, and Little Red Riding Hood certainly couldn't rip holes into reality…

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then let me go," Booker replied, firmly.

Elizabeth had a death grip on his leather shoulder holsters, pressing his chest down over hers, effectively using his own body to shield her nakedness. _There is no turning back from this. _She took a deep breath to steady herself, before letting her hands fall away to her sides. Booker pecked her nose affectionately, before roughly kissing her on the mouth, in an attempt to rekindle the thoughtless, wild excitement that made Elizabeth grind against the hardness of his body only moments before.

It worked.

When Elizabeth's breathing came in heavy pants, Booker pinched her sensitive nipples. The pink buds stiffened beneath the calloused pads of his thumb and index finger. Elizabeth bit his lower lip, as his fingers stretched and tugged the sensitive tissue. She remembered what it felt like when Booker had first taken her flesh into his mouth. The muscles in her lower stomach tightened, and gooseflesh erupted all across her arms and chest at the thought. Elizabeth wanted to feel that again. Her hands curled around the edge of the desk when she tilted her head back, signaling him that she wanted his kisses to go lower.

Booker dragged his teeth down her neck to her chest, making Elizabeth's toes curl. At first she only felt his breath against her skin as his mouth hovered over her left breast. It was hot but, she shivered at the subtle stimulation. He glanced up at her, his eyes bright with desire as she watched his tongue lightly flick over the peak of her nipple. She whimpered, and Booker smiled as his mouth descended over the firm, waiting flesh. His lips massaged the dense tissue of her breast, stroking her hard nipple with his tongue as he moved his hand down to rest on Elizabeth's stomach. Booker continued to use his other hand to fondle her. His palm cupped the underside of her other breast, while his fingers pinched and rubbed her stimulated nipple.

Elizabeth simultaneously felt relieved and uncomfortable when Booker kissed her breast; relief because she no longer felt self-conscious, and uncomfortable because it felt so amazing. Her heart was fluttering like a wild bird trapped inside her ribcage, as Booker worshipped her breasts. His mouth was wet, molten silk against her skin. He sucked and wrapped his tongue around Elizabeth's sensitive nipple just like he would when he kissed her mouth. Booker's hand squeezed her other breast painfully, rubbing the rough calloused texture of his palm and fingers against her skin in the same spots over and over again. She felt nails when he pinched her, and Elizabeth moaned. While his hand overwhelmed Elizabeth's nerves with stabbing spikes of pain, at the same time, the waves of pleasure that his mouth sent pulsating through her body were exquisite.

Why wasn't he closer? Elizabeth writhed against Booker's touch, sliding forward a little in her seat. Ripples of agonizing excitement made the tender space between her thighs ache, and her underthings felt damp against her humid skin. The lack of attention to her sex made Elizabeth squirm with nubile impatience. She wanted grind herself against the prominent and hard shape of his arousal to relieve the unbearable pressure that radiated from her center all the way down her legs. So, when Booker had switched his mouth over to her right breast Elizabeth was already half off the desk with her legs stretched out, tipping her pelvis forward.

"Booker…"Elizabeth quietly moaned his name, when she felt him stiff against her stomach.

Damn their severe height difference, the angle was all wrong.

Elizabeth's hands moved underneath his leather holsters and vest, gripping his sides tightly in frustration. She tried to squeeze him as hard as he was kneading the sore flesh of her breasts. His tongue moved around her right nipple in slow circles as he twisted the left between his fingers.

The following moan that came out of her mouth that time was low and guttural. It sounded as impatient as she felt. Elizabeth never imagined she could feel so good and so frustrated all at once. She squeezed Booker's sides hard, pulling him towards her as if she could rip pieces of his flesh right off his body.

_Please, please, please, please touch me._

Elizabeth cried out in surprise when he bit down hard around her nipple, and sucked.

_So good..._The thought was raw and primal, and it made his head swell. Booker moaned with pleasure when the hot metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He wrapped his hands around Elizabeth's waist and pulled her off the desk the rest of the way. Booker liked the way she had squeezed and tugged at his sides, she twisted his flesh around just right to make it smart. For being a virgin it made sex with her look more and more promising by the moment.

When he lifted his head away from her chest, Booker was breathing hard.

"Lift up your dress," he growled.

Shaking, Elizabeth grabbed a handful of material and began pulling it up.

"Just the velvet," Booker instructed.

The tone of his voice brooked no argument, but it was Elizabeth's trust in him that allowed her to follow his lead. She took the cobalt material in both hands and lifted it up to waist level. Once she did that, Booker dropped down to his knees and started pulling down her petticoat.

Any white clothing below waist level _had_ to go.

_Just in case…_

Booker worked fast and efficient in removing the puffy white layers of Elizabeth's underthings without tearing any of the fragile material. He pulled the petticoat down to her ankles.

"Lift your foot, Elizabeth." She gingerly picked up a leg and Booker quickly moved the waistband of the garment past the heel of her boot.

"Now your other foot," he told her.

_Yeah…his wife wasn't his only partner, _Elizabeth thought with a chill as she complied with Booker's confident and succinct commands.

He laid Elizabeth's petticoat on top of her jacket, then set to the task of removing the next layer of clothing. While he unhooked the fastenings of her garters, Elizabeth stared at the perfect teeth marks Booker had made into the flesh of her breast with wide eyes. There were tiny, shallow pools of blood filling each indentation. Her dark stockings loosely fell to her knees. No longer held flush against Elizabeth's skin the rayon material irritatingly chaffed the back of her calves.

Pulling down her drawers was even easier than the petticoat since there was less material to deal with. Booker quickly got them down to her ankles.

"Same as before," he said. She stepped out of the frilly bloomers with his help. Booker laid her drawers aside, and stared hard at the satin panties that remained. This was where time slowed down to a bittersweet crawl as he lightly slid his hands up Elizabeth's thighs to cradle her firm rear end. He squeezed the round curve of Elizabeth's backside, rocking her forward, until his mouth skimmed along the smooth surface of her underwear. When he felt the dampness there, Booker had to work hard at reigning in his libido.

_No skin yet…_was Booker's firm, disciplined thought as he fought to pull his lust back in check, just as an owner would yank on the leash of a disobedient pet. He glided his wet tongue along the underside of Elizabeth's panties, feeling the shape of her through the fine material.

_Love is a dog from hell_. He mused, opening his mouth even wider to caress more of her warmth.

She moaned loudly when the heat of Booker's mouth enfolded the sensitive space between her thighs. Elizabeth was abruptly taken aback by the sensation of him licking her underwear. The back and forward motion he made with his tongue even through the barrier of fabric was the _perfect_ amount of friction she needed. Elizabeth's hands tightened around the plush velvet of her dress as Booker licked and sucked at her satin enclosed flesh until she was completed saturated.

_I'm so wet…_she noticed with fascination, reeling from the pleasure that kept on building in her groin.

Elizabeth groaned loudly, uncaring that her voice had climbed up a few octaves since they had begun kissing. She leaned into Booker's strong arms, grateful that he held her up as her body trembled. Instinctually, her pelvis tipped forward, her hips gently grinding into his mouth. It felt so _good_, but the more time went on, the more her underwear bothered her. Elizabeth didn't know where the desire to have his mouth against her bare skin came from, but the sudden idea of his tongue slipping inside the soft, wet, clenching part of her anatomy made her call out his name.

"Booker!" she rasped, pressing herself into his face.

She was getting close, and Booker could feel the sharp tremors that shook her thighs and ass beneath his hands. If he kept it up, Booker knew he could get Elizabeth to orgasm, and every inch of his body vibrated with the rapacious need to make it happen. _But, _once he did…

_Fuck._

He wanted to be inside her more than he needed air to breath. When she came, Booker's self-control would snap like a dry twig and would take it her, but he was also tired of being caged up in the Luteces claustrophobic hallway. Booker wanted more space to move around, and that meant stopping for the moment until they could get upstairs. He rolled back on the balls of his feet considering whether to remove Elizabeth's last bit of underclothes. Her white underwear was darkened by his saliva and her own body fluids. Booker decided to remove it, and he hastily peeled the saturated bit of material away from her body.

His fingers grazed the slight tuft of dark hair when he pulled Elizabeth's underwear past the jut of her pubic bone, fighting the temptation to caress and explore the swollen pink and purplish folds of flesh that hovered near his face like an offering. In order to help Elizabeth step out of her underwear, Booker had to hold her up by her hands she was shaking so hard.

_I know baby, soon…_

Booker thought as he stood up, carefully setting her underwear at the top of the growing pile of clothes. He locked her small hands with his own, intertwining their fingers together, before smothering her mouth with a suffocating kiss. He pulled her forward, listening to the soft swish of Elizabeth's dress fall back into place over her lower body. Booker kissed her hard and wild as he turned her body towards the stairs and pushed himself into her. Elizabeth took a step back, and then another. She quickly caught on to where he was leading her, and soon she was taking confident, giant strides backwards as Booker herded her down the hallway. Booker kept his eyes open and never let up in kissing her as they walked. He found that the lull of removing clothing or heading towards a bed tended to allow just enough time for a woman's brain to start thinking again. Once they started thinking their arousal tended to wane. Booker had Elizabeth good and riled up, teetering on the cusp of her excitement and he intended to keep her that way. In Booker DeWitt's opinion, bashful revelations or trivial insecurities should have no part in a woman's sexual vocabulary. There was only _want_; only action and reaction. Elizabeth was just beginning to discover what sex was all about, and he fully intended to keep her from forming any bad habits. In the end, if anything good at all came from him taking her innocence, Booker was resolved that Elizabeth would _not_ be ashamed of herself, and she would know that she was _desired_ far beyond empty words.

When they reached the base of the stairs, Booker had let go of Elizabeth's hands intending to pick her up, but she surprised him by taking a giant step back up to the third step, tugging on his leather shoulder holsters. His eyes widened, for not looking at where she was going, at her height, and in those heels, it was damn impressive Her arms were stretched to the limits, but Elizabeth had flexibility on her side and was just _barely _able to hook her fingers around Booker's holsters. She stood on the steps precariously with an impatient smile, trying to pull him forward. Elizabeth's face and chest were flushed, her corset was in a state of disarray exposing the firm perky breasts he liked so well, and she acted so relaxed. She was being _too_ _damn_ cute for her own good.

_Okay, I'll bite. _Booker mused climbing onto the second step with a smile.

Elizabeth was still grinning when Booker kissed her; she had made him smile _again. _She wrapped her hands more securely around the leather straps, and took another step up when his tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. She could taste the traces of blood, whiskey, and cigarettes in his mouth, and of all the vulgar things that proper etiquette had told her to be offended by. Elizabeth took another step. The women who wrote those periodicals would probably faint if they knew how insanely curious she was about the idea of Booker's DeWitt's mouth all over her body.

Elizabeth pressed herself into him harder, kissing Booker wildly as she took another step up. She knew that sex was going to hurt, but why on earth did it feel so…_compelling _and amazing whenever the hardness of his arousal rubbed against the space between her legs? Breathing hard into his mouth she ran her tongue across his, her right foot feeling for the next step.

_Good grief, how many steps are there?_

She wondered, placing her weight down on thin air.

_Oh, no…_

Before Elizabeth had time to adjust her misstep, the back of her heel caught on a loose thread in the rug, and she fell backwards taking Booker with her. She cried out when her spine, tailbone, and the nape of her neck hit the staircase as she slid. Thankfully, they didn't fall all the way down the steps. Booker was able to dig his heels in, and his long limbs spread out to stop their momentum before her accidental spill had become too disastrous.

"You okay, Elizabeth?" he grunted, pushing himself up with his forearms.

"Y-yeah," she stammered.

"That wasn't very smart, was it?" Elizabeth asked with a stifled giggle.

"Eh, shit happens," Booker replied with a casual shrug, sitting up.

_Jeeeasus Christ…_

When Booker looked down he saw that Elizabeth had her legs wrapped around him and his lower body had perfectly aligned itself with hers. Her dress had slid up to waist level, leaving her lower body completely exposed. All at once she was a vision of sultry blue eyes, mussed hair, pale skin, slender limbs, pink nipples, pink lips, all trembling together with laughter.

They were not going to make it upstairs.

With the exception of her corset, that was why he had the forethought to strip Elizabeth of any white clothing she had on. It was a precaution that Booker was immediately grateful for heeding. The poor girl certainly had her fill of seeing her clothes saturated with blood. Booker had tried to make to the bedroom, but he would not be taking his time to finish undressing her properly after all. Booker pressed his erection against Elizabeth's vulnerable sex, hands moving up to pinch her nipples, as he bestowed her with an urgent, hungry kiss.

_Oh, well. At least the carpets red… _was Booker's fleeting thought when he felt Elizabeth's pelvis relax, spreading her legs wider.

Elizabeth drank the fire coming from Booker's mouth with an eager moan. He was an exquisite weight against her delicate frame, hot and stiff, with the crotch of his pants rubbing against the diminutive organ that hid within the folds of her flesh. She took in a deep breath, filling her nose with his scent. He smelled like aged leather, smoke, metal, and of some kind of earthy aftershave. Elizabeth ran her hands up Booker's forearms, over his biceps, to rest on his broad shoulders. Even through his cloths she could feel the smooth, lean muscle of his upper body.

_This is really happening, _she thought with a sense of wonderment when he broke their kiss to suck on one of her breasts. Squirming to get even closer to him, she ground herself against the swollen bulge in his pants. Elizabeth ignored the edge of the step that started to dig into the small of her back. It felt too good to stop. She panted and moved her hips against him faster, even Booker's bites and pinches to her sensitive breasts were starting to feeling good.

_I want to hear you scream…_

He needed to make her come fast and hard. Booker thought with a guttural moan, tugging on one of Elizabeth's nipples before shifting his body back. He lowered himself on a step below Elizabeth and positioned himself on his knees. Once Booker was settled at the appropriate height, he lifted her legs on to his shoulders, one after the other. When he gripped her ankles the texture of Elizabeth's stockings felt unbelievably rough in comparison to the baby soft flesh of her white thighs and ass as he arranged her legs around his head. Her breath was coming in fast ragged gasps when he leaned his neck forward and gave her a strong generous lick. The dark pink inner lips of Elizabeth's sex where shaped like petals and they easily parted for him like a blooming flower.

"Mmmmhmmm," Booker growled against her tender flesh. His slid his bandaged hand around Elizabeth's backside, gripping her ass to tilt her hips forward. His other hand pinched the flesh of Elizabeth's hood tugging it back.

Every woman was built differently, and what made Elizabeth such a delight was that unlike other women her inner lips were larger and more well developed that the outer ones. Like her nipples the anatomy of her sex was well pronounced with an exposed hood, even her amount of body hair was fairly light. Booker wouldn't have to search very hard to coax all of her sensitive bits out of hiding. Hell, exploring all of her in's and out's would be more fun than learning how to use a new fire arm.

Elizabeth's toes curled inside her shoes when Booker placed his mouth on that tender part of her body. She leaned back as far as possible. Her slender fingers wove themselves through any loose threads of fabric in the carpeting that covered the stairs. Elizabeth had wondered what his tongue might feel like the moment he stroked it across her underwear, now she was getting her wish, and it felt _nothing_ like what she thought it would. It was amazing to her that just a single piece of fabric between them could create such a difference in sensations. Now, that they were skin to skin, she wasn't only wet, she was on _fire. _The stubble on his face was rough against her moist flesh, but his rhythm was patient allowing her to relax into him. Booker moved his mouth in a slow and sinuous motion, kissing her sex like an animal lapping at water. Whenever his tongue rubbed against the sensitive nub above her opening she moaned and rocked her hips forward to meet Booker's mouth. But, he never stayed in one spot for long. Booker would move his tongue aside to suck her lips, taking the fragile pieces of flesh into his mouth, slowly stretching them. That made her unexpectedly giggle, and Elizabeth saw a flash of green eyes as he looked up at her. She had the oddest feeling that he was making mental notations of how she reacted to what he did. He probably was. If it was _her_ doing the same things to him, she would be too.

It was a curious and fantastically scandalous thought, but the idea of reciprocating was he was doing to her seemed…_intimidating_. At least for the moment, that could change, but for now she was content to let Booker bathe her in one delicious sensation after the next. He passed his tongue in a leisurely circle around the opening of her sex, and Elizabeth's mouth fell slack. It was wide open, but no sound came out. Every muscle in her body seized and locked tight, her hands were balled into fists. Booker repeated the motion and her thighs quivered. _Please, please, please, please. _It was the only word that her desperate mind could form, and it echoed inside Elizabeth's head like a fervent prayer.

_Interesting, _Booker thought as he felt her body language change fluidly in his arms. Action to reaction, back and forth the dialogue between his body and hers would ebb and flow. When he moved his tongue across her entrance with a firm lick, he felt Elizabeth shake and twitch underneath his hands. It wasn't just a feel good tremor, it was an _"I need this, and if I don't get it I will die" _earthquake. There were an infinite amount of ways to experience pleasure and a climax could vary in many degrees of intensity, something that Elizabeth was about to discover very soon. Booker had a gut feeling that if he wanted her to go as hard as possible it wasn't in how she moved that he had to pay attention to per se, but when she _didn't_ move at all. Booker always believed in following his hunches, whatever the result maybe, he was eager to find out.

He pushed just the tip of his tongue through her small opening, and Elizabeth quivered violently.

_Sweet and hot…_Booker groaned against the wet flesh around his mouth, wiggling his tongue inside her further, stretching the humid skin.

Elizabeth's mantra changed from please to _yes _when she felt Booker's tongue dip into the open, empty space of her sex. She was shaking so hard she could see the flesh of her thighs gently vibrating. When more and more of his tongue started to fill her, Elizabeth's legs fanned out as they rested on Booker's shoulders dropping her pelvis back as she relaxed. The fabric of Booker's bandaged hand squeezed the flesh of her rear as he rocked her forward to impale her with his tongue. Fluid was now freely running down her thighs and curving around her buttocks. Elizabeth wasn't sure if it all came from her or if it was just Booker's saliva or both. When he firmly pressed the flat side of his palm on top of her sex, Elizabeth gasped from the pressure. He rubbed his hand there, timing it with the thrusts of his tongue and Elizabeth didn't care anymore what was making her so wet. The roughness of Booker's bristly stubble and calloused hand manipulated the flesh of her hood loose to expose the sensitive nub of her clitoris, stimulating it with excruciating friction.

Loosing herself in throes of ecstasy, Elizabeth let Booker guide her body. Her eyelids grew heavy and everything in the moment distilled down to a hazy blur of pleasure. Her hips pitched forward when Booker's hand moved faster and his tongue pushed deeper. The combination of those two things made her blood sing with fire and electricity. Perspiration trickled down the nape of Elizabeth's neck and made her palms slide against the coarse carpet beneath her hands. The unbearable pressure that had been growing inside her like a cancer was starting to unwind. Below the waist she was wet and burning. How was that even possible? Water and fire were supposed to be at odds with each other, and yet they rolled together inside Elizabeth's center with easy freedom. As beautiful and poetic as the all sensations Elizabeth felt were, it was the raunchy thought that Booker's tongue was buried inside the part of her body that she had felt so disconnected with her whole life that set off her climax. It was a raw and wicked sensation that kept building and building; until her hips were moving so fast she started to scream.

Her orgasm was long and hard and it surged through her body in waves. It rippled down from her sex to her thighs and crawled up through her stomach, spreading like arcs of lightening leaping from nerve to nerve until her whole body shook and her fingers and toes tingled. Only her frequent gasps for air and the heavy pounding of her heart inside her chest made Elizabeth feel like she was still inside her own body and not floating through the ceiling like some ethereal phantom.

_Am I really still here? _She wondered woozily. Through the heady fog of her afterglow, she felt Booker's rough hands close around her quivering thighs to move her legs down from his shoulders. The tips of his fingers lightly ghosted over her body, making gooseflesh sprout from her skin. Elizabeth's groin was still twitching from the last remnants of her release, so she barely felt the wet pool that continued to spread underneath her backside.

_Well, that was fucking PERFECT_. Booker thought lasciviously, wiping his mouth across the sleeve of his shirt. He watched Elizabeth tremble with a fierce sense of male pride. His instincts were right on the money and his ability to anticipate what she wanted not only made her climax, but it made her scream. Not a moan, not a groan, or a gasp, but a real genuine scream. The sound she made gave Booker chills up and down his spine. When she was getting close, Booker initially wanted to pinch the tiny, hypersensitive nub of her anatomy between his fingers, but experience had compelled him to stimulate her with the broader surface of his palm instead. He was glad he did, his fingers would have been _too much _stimulation. Booker felt Elizabeth's orgasm as a hot rush of fluid across his tongue and a tight knot of muscles all unwinding at once beneath his hands. It turned him on, and got his blood up beyond boiling.

That was why Booker couldn't keep his hands off her, even when he knew that Elizabeth's body would be overly sensitive to even the slightest touch as she slowly came down from her afterglow. Her skin was feverishly hot and quaking underneath his hands, and Booker touched her everywhere, walking his fingers down the length of Elizabeth's body. He felt every nervous jump and tick of her pulse beneath the silky texture of her flesh from chest, to taut abdomen, to the distinctive jut of her hip bones. When his fingers glided down the slippery surface of her sex, Booker sucked in a sharp breath. Elizabeth squirmed from the sudden sensation of his middle and ring finger rubbing her. Booker's fingers slid back and forth against the dripping wet, bright pink flesh that surrounded her opening. His breathing became loud heavy panting as Booker watched the skin stretch under constant manipulation. He worked her flesh until his fingers were easily sucked into the dark space of her gender. Her walls flexed around him, squeezing.

_Oh…fuck me. Fuck me now and fuck me hard. _That tight space surrounding his fingers whispered to him seductively.

Elizabeth's eyes few open as Booker continued to dip his fingers in and out of her. She was still shaking, her chest moved up and down erratically with bated breath. The fire in Booker's eyes could put the sun to shame with the way he looked at her. She was inexperienced yes, but it didn't take a genius to know what he was thinking about. Booker's desires burned so raw and hot his neediness triggered the deep empathy she had for him. No wonder sex was so scary for the experienced and uninitiated alike…it made her realize that every notion people had about self-control was as fragile and transparent as glass.

"Booker?" Elizabeth said his name in a husky voice that she didn't even know she had, reaching out to him with her right hand, touching the side of his face.

_That gesture…_was so familiar; it made Booker's heart stop. But, whenever his brain tried to sort out _why _it was so important the thoughts would slip away like surreal apparitions to leave him in a cold sweat as the only clue that they had been there at all.

"I'll be alright. Just talk to me okay? Just tell me what's happening," Elizabeth told him quietly, indecisive about which of them she was trying to reassure more, him or herself.

_I can do better than that. I can show you,_ Booker anticipated, using her right hand to pull her up into a sitting position.

Boneless, Elizabeth easily sat up. She felt so…_slippery _that she had to glance down at herself and see what that was all about. But, she actually couldn't see anything at all, because Booker's hand completely covered her groin. His fingers slightly twitched inside her whenever she moved. _Fascinating…_she observed with a certain combination of studious removal and jarring physical awareness. Once she was upright, Booker seized her chin in a hard grip. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat when he brought her face close to his.

"Still want me?" he asked. His voice dropped into a low and emotional whisper.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered him immediately. Booker was being so honest and _emotional_ with her…it was everything her heart desired. She _refused_ to let any fear of pain take that away from her. He didn't smile at her answer, but she saw his eyes light up with fierce joy before he kissed her roughly. Booker was all tongue and sharp teeth, and the pressure and depth of his fingers pushed inside her rapidly. When he broke off their kiss, tearing his mouth away from hers with a loud ragged breath, the memory of seeing him masturbate smothered Elizabeth's warm, fuzzy, afterglow like a bucket of ice water. What did he just tell her again? Oh, yeah. That's right. Every single part of her body was up on the market and she just gave him a blank check. It's what she wanted, right? Elizabeth felt his fingers withdraw from her sex completely. It was funny how her body had grown used to them so quickly that she actually felt _empty_ when they weren't there. She's wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement that was making her heart race, but in the end it didn't really matter which emotion it was because as Booker would say, "it didn't change a God damn thing." Elizabeth had given him the "okay" over and over again when he always _somehow_ managed to finagle a way out for her. Now…they were going to have sex whether she was ready for it or not. _No looking back._

"Then get on your knees and turn around," he instructed her gruffly.

Booker slid further down the steps so she had room to move. Elizabeth took a breath. _Don't move too fast and get all tangled up in your dress, but don't hesitate either, _she told herself. She would be calm and fluid, just like water. She would not look awkward damn it. Elizabeth placed a hand on either side of her hips and closed her legs together tightly. She gently spun down to the step directly below her, the fabric of her dress dragged and felt ungainly, but it settled down partially around her legs covering most of her lower body. Elizabeth silently appreciated how fate and gravity decided to tastefully arrange it for her, even though it would be moved out of the way. Modesty and sex definitely did not go together, but it did make the tense silence bearable for her. Her thighs touched the lip of the next step in front of her as she sat upright. Elizabeth looked over shoulder at Booker, trying to remain calm and not anticipate anything, because the more she thought the more anxious she became.

Elizabeth's back was straight as an arrow as she settled back on her heels. Booker looked her up and down, studying her proper posture for a moment with dark amusement. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, moving himself directly behind her. Booker leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, enfolding Elizabeth in a warm and protective embrace, smelling her hair, before planting a wet kiss at the nape of her neck. Her svelte frame shuddered against him sweetly, and he moved his mouth over the side of Elizabeth's neck. She tasted salty and her soft skin was a little damp with perspiration. He liked that. Booker ran his hands over her soft breasts feeling her nipples stiffen before moving them down to grip the hard bones of her hips.

"You can do whatever your little heart desires, Elizabeth," he whispered in her ear, pulling up her dress.

"Move around or don't, it doesn't matter." Booker stated bluntly, deliberately dragging his fingers up her thighs.

"It doesn't?" she stated with quiet disbelief.

He licked a shoulder, smiling into the delicate skin when he heard her gasp as he nipped her with his teeth.

"Not really. You should do what feels good to you," he continued, massaging a breast with his bandaged hand, while he rubbed his other against her wet lips, enjoying the warm shape of her swollen sex.

"Do you know why that is?" Booker asked, breathing into Elizabeth's ear. He moved the hand at her groin around to the small of her back, while he slid his other up from her breast to wrap around the base of her neck. Elizabeth's pulse was alive underneath his fingers as they curled around her throat.

"I have a feeling you're about to tell me," she replied softly.

_Good girl. _Booker thought with pleasure, enjoying the sensation of feeling her words beneath his hand.

"Because no matter what you do or don't do…" Booker began to say as he pressed his hand against the small of Elizabeth's back. He used the momentum of his weight to his advantage to force her to move forwards, stretching her upper body over the steps. It was as close as he could get to bringing her down on all fours. A startled cry escaped her lips when Booker pushed her down hard into the stairs. His broad physique overshadowed Elizabeth's petite figure easily, and she felt deliriously good underneath him. The hand that he had over her throat pushed Elizabeth's head back at an uncomfortable angle, as he leaned in to growl possessively in her ear.

"I _always_ get what I want."

Elizabeth's body arched into Booker's like a defensive cat. His embrace felt as rigid and unyielding as a brick wall. "And what _do_ you want?" She replied, sounding a lot feistier than she anticipated.

Slender iron fingers manipulated Elizabeth's flesh, turning her head towards him, so they could be face to face for a moment. The one side of Booker's mouth curled into a secretive smile. It made her feel better, even if it contained so many things that she didn't fully understand.

"That's for me to know, and _you_ to find out." He told her cryptically, with a brief peck on her nose. The hand that had been resting in the hollow of Elizabeth's back, glided around her midsection as his forearm curled around her tiny waist greedily. Booker loosened his hold around her neck so he could press her head down into the steps.

"If you want to know what's happening, all you have to do is look down and watch," he said, the last word hissing past his teeth before biting the nape of her neck.

Elizabeth quivered when Booker's lips and teeth dragged across her shoulder blades. His body shifted back as he moved his mouth down her spine sending little jolts of electricity ricocheting throughout her body. Her forehead pressed into the rough carpeting of the rug as she opened her eyes. She _needed _to see…when Elizabeth looked down and saw her naked lower body completely exposed to the air, she blushed vividly. But, the way she was angled on her knees it made her rapidly changing facial expressions very discreet. While Booker was on top of her Elizabeth could watch what he did without being observed herself.

_Thank God, _Elizabeth thought with relief. It significantly dulled down the embarrassment factor of the very… _undignified_ position. The way Booker had arranged them looked really similar to some of the illustrations that were in her animal biology books. A delicious shudder stole through her abdomen when Booker seized her bare buttocks in his rough hands, lowering himself to lick her from behind. Elizabeth swooned at the unexpected rise of pressure building back up between her legs as she watched him part the lips of her gender with his tongue. Booker's hands spread her thighs further apart moving both of his thumbs down to rub the opening of her sex as he licked and sucked, getting her wet. Elizabeth bit her lower lip as she fought the urge to press herself into his face as Booker explored her with his mouth and hands.

_Why was her ass so perfect?_

Booker wondered when he suddenly felt Elizabeth's clitoris stiffen underneath his tongue with surprise. He suddenly realized that he could make her climax _again_. Booker had started off intently manipulating Elizabeth's flesh with the intentions of getting her wet for him so he could penetrate her easier, but when he felt that her body was so responsive to his touch, he couldn't help but continue. Like an addict, Booker wanted to hear that sound from her again. She would still be coming hard when he rammed himself into her, and that thought alone made him dizzy with raw lust and swelling in anticipation.

Trembling with excitement, Booker put his middle and index finger inside Elizabeth, coating them in the hot fluids that had been steadily increasing as he kept stimulating her. He switched hands, wetting his other fingers, and once the both of them felt good and slippery Booker spread her perfectly plump ass cheeks further apart. He rubbed his well saturated, pruned fingers over the small fuzzy pucker of Elizabeth's anus, and leaned in forward to stimulate her sex with his thumbs and tongue in earnest. Booker grunted with animalistic pleasure when he heard her moan. From the sound of it, he guessed that she liked it when his fingers occasionally tugged on the small hairs of her soft backside, while he continued to use them to stroke the outside of her anus in a steady up and down motion. At the same time, Booker's tongue lapped at her with fast hungry motions. The muscles in his throat flexed as he drank her down like his favorite brand of whiskey.

_Come for me baby_…he thought, rubbing his thumbs against her erect clitoris, and the sensitive opening where he desperately needed to bury himself as soon as possible. Booker felt another surge of blood go straight to his groin when Elizabeth's hips finally responded to his urgent ministrations by bucking into his face.

_There you go._ Booker was panting with satisfaction when Elizabeth grinded into his face faster, and she started to shake. The only thing that would have made the moment even more perfect than it already was would be to have a third hand, so he could stroke himself nice and hard until they came together.

Booker felt her spasm against him as she cried out.

_That's it Elizabeth…mmmhhhhmmmm …keep going…rub your cunt against me harder…harder…oh, God…why do you taste so good?_

Only when she was screaming his name over and over again did he start to let up. Elizabeth didn't know what came over her. A minute ago the position he put her in made her feel extremely shy and in the next minute…well… she was pretty certain that her voice had cracked when her orgasm snuck up on her like a thief in the night.

_Control? What's that? _Elizabeth mused deliriously. The room felt like it was spinning as the blood rushing through her body made her feel a little faint. When men like Booker DeWitt could do things like _that _to a woman's body the words, modesty, discreet, ladylike, chastity, and any others with similar connotations should be struck from the English language.

The poignant sound of metal scrapping against metal, made Elizabeth's breath hitch in her throat, clearing away her contemplative introspection as easily as dusting away a cobweb. Elizabeth opened her eyes just in time to see Booker unhook his belt buckle. She was still woozy and twitching from her afterglow, but Elizabeth felt an uncomfortable lump growing in the back of her throat. The button at the top of his pin stripe pants was undone with a quick motion of his dexterous fingers. Elizabeth swallowed past the lump in her throat, was it just her, or could she literally hear her heart beating?

_I will be calm_. She lectured herself sternly inside her mind. Elizabeth had fought for this moment too hard to let the case of the jitters make her hesitate. She was with Booker, so everything was copacetic. The fly of his pants unzipped, transfixed Elizabeth's eyes were glued to the smooth motion of his hands. Booker's right hand disappeared into the depths of his drawers out of habit. His left hand held the neat opening in the cloth of his shorts wide open, while he cupped the familiar weight of himself in the other, freeing his swollen member from his painfully constricting cloths.

Elizabeth heard Booker sigh in relief. As she studied the shape of his naked appendage, for the life of her she could not keep Grimm Brothers fairy tales from invading the space in her head where she tried to think.

"_My! What BIG teeth you have!" Little Red Riding Hood gasped._

"_All the better to eat you with my dear" _she mused, roughly paraphrasing the dialogue of the classic fable to purge it from her thoughts.

_Form fits function_, was the next phrase that her subconscious decided to make her aware of as she stared at the translucent blue veins that snaked their way up the length of the vibrant red and pink skin that covered his gender. Elizabeth really did wonder how in the world two very disparate organs were supposed to work together. She was about to find out.

_Use me, I'm beautiful_.

It was the first words of the song she had heard come out of the tear.

_Am I beautiful? Truly? _Elizabeth pondered with a curious sense of…_foreboding_.

Booker hooked his fingers into the loose laces of Elizabeth's corset and savagely yanked her backwards. Her body flew back until she crashed into his chest.

_Ah. So that's why he didn't take off my corset. He'll use it to control me…_she realized, with chills dancing down her spine.

Even through his clothes, Booker felt like a burning wall against her back; a wall with a wild heart that thundered against her spine sending emotional shockwaves into her body. His arousal pressed into the narrow crease that separate her buttocks, a living rod of stiff, but smooth flesh that throbbed with a pulse of its own.

Booker wrapped his fingers around the laces of Elizabeth's corset, the muscles in his forearm bunching up with tension. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, sucking in one desperate gasp of air after another His lust, his greed, his loneliness, his self-hatred, his guilt, his pain, sang into Elizabeth's slender body as Booker held her against him.

"I _want_ you," he finally panted, his voice wavering as a conflicted and guttural rasp.

Those three words washed Elizabeth with comfort and it fed her deep need to bond with someone. She was forging a visceral connection with Booker, a haunted but _real _man. The realization that this _wasn't_ a passing dream or vicarious fantasy from a book filled her heart to bursting with emotion.

"Take me, I'm yours" she sighed gently, murmuring the song lyrics, turning her head to affectionately nuzzle him back. When he looked back at her those moody green eyes were filled with desire, yes, but also with bitterness so deep it made Elizabeth worry for him.

"Then tell me that you _forgive_ me" Booker confessed, hoarsely. The desperation in which he said those words allowed Elizabeth to tap into the wellspring of empathy she had for him.

"Yes Booker, I forgive you." Elizabeth told him sincerely from the bottom of her heart.

That was it for him. In the end those were the three words that Booker needed to hear from her in the worst way. Just as "I want you" allowed Elizabeth to accept him as he was, flaws and all, it was "I forgive you" that let him accept himself, even if it was only for a little while.

Booker rocked the two of them forward, and Elizabeth got a face full of carpet when his weight bore down over her. Her face scrunched up with distaste against the dry and unsavory fibers that pressed against her mouth. Before Elizabeth even had a chance to really sort herself out, she felt the long, hard length of him glide across her sex. That first teasing and promising touch made the both of them shudder when her lips caressed the tip of him before sliding up along his shaft. Heart thudding, Elizabeth adjusted herself so her forehead rested on a step. He pulled back and the sensation made her tingle all over. She looked down just in time to see the wide mushroom shaped part of his anatomy slide past her lips again as Booker stroked himself against her groin. Like his mouth, the friction generated from skin to skin contact felt so much more satisfying than any rubbing that had occurred between them with their clothes on. Captivated by the repetition of the motion, Elizabeth watched Booker guide himself across her moist flesh. When he pulled back the fourth or fifth time, she saw Booker grip the base of his member with his right hand. Elizabeth felt her body being suddenly tugged backwards. The thought that he had a hold of her corset again, was the last cognizant realization that Elizabeth had before her entire world was consumed by a constant increase of pressure.

Booker wound the fingers of his left hand around the laces of Elizabeth's corset to hold her steady, while he used his right to guide himself towards her entrance. He was already breathing heavily by the time he actually started to press his head into the thin, delicate, membranous folds of flesh that surrounded the narrow opening of her sex. Booker could hear his pulse rushing inside his own ears as he pushed into Elizabeth. She was very wet. In theory that should have helped ease his passing, but Elizabeth's virginity and her overall diminutive construct struggled to accept anything much larger than a few fingers.

Instead of slowing down, the simple revelation of how Elizabeth's flesh reacted to him only excited Booker even more, and made penetrating her feel better and better. Booker sucked in a sharp gulp of air as he pulled her body closer to his. He had never once in his life felt anything but lucky when it came to his opinion of his own body parts. Booker was lengthy and he had considerable girth to go with it, and when matched up with the exquisite contrast of Elizabeth's petite body… he was reeling with adrenaline when the molten wet opening of her sex ate his throbbing head little by little as he pushed his cock into her harder.

_Oh, fuck…_

She felt way too fucking good to be true. Way too good to be real.

_1500 feet Halle-fucking-lujah indeed…_Booker mused recklessly, as he became more intoxicated with all the wonderful sensations that the nerves in his sensitive head sent climbing up the length of his shaft. More and more, he persistently pressed himself into the seductive yet unyielding flesh. It was a maddening and torturous process that sent delightful shivers of pleasure radiating out from Booker's groin into the rest of his body.

Booker didn't know how to be gentle, but the ironic benefit of Elizabeth being a virgin was that she didn't know what gentle lovemaking was like either. She had no previous lovers to compare Booker to, so in a roundabout way that made it easier for her to accept the bright red flower of pain that was rapidly blooming inside her body.

_More…NEED more. _Booker panted, his entire frame shook with fierce impatience. He wasn't trying to go slow, but he hadn't anticipated Elizabeth's body to be so…_uncooperative. _But, he'd never slept with a virgin either. That was about to change, as a sudden rush of scalding fluid broke over his head when it finally disappeared inside the tender flesh of Elizabeth's sex. She moaned so sweetly. Now that he had gotten her started at last, Booker let go of the grip he had around his base in favor of weaving a second hand through the laces of Elizabeth's corset. White-knuckled, his hands tensed around the satin strips of fabric. Booker's hips jutted forward forcefully and with a loud, animalistic groan he yanked Elizabeth into his body, fully penetrating her in one efficient and brutal stroke.

Elizabeth screamed and Booker violently slammed the side of his fist into the wall, causing the picture frame of an old photograph to rattle in his wake. He was buried to the hilt, and her flesh molded itself around him tighter than a glove. It felt like his dick was being swallowed by a boiling hot vice, and the irony that the word could describe both a clamp and a sin made Booker darkly amused as he strove to push himself deeper. Elizabeth moaned again, and once he felt the tip of his head stop and bump against something, Booker slowly withdrew. When he was completely out, Booker looked down and saw that his member was coated in bright red blood from the head of his cock all the way down to his balls; time to add another sin to his long list of mistakes. Although this one was quickly becoming his favorite, Booker thought, sucking in an uneven breath as he was immediately overwhelmed by the heady pleasure of plunging himself back into Elizabeth's bleeding flesh.

"Fuuuuuuuck," Booker hissed, as a shell-shocked Elizabeth watched his engorged and blood soaked appendage push into her body once again. She didn't think that when he filled her again, it could possibly hurt as much as the first time. She was wrong. Overcome with pain, Elizabeth gasped at the burning, tearing sensations that made her want to squirm away from him. She had wanted it, asked for it, begged for it, and now that she was actually getting it the moment was acutely bittersweet. When Booker was inside of her Elizabeth felt emotionally satisfied, mentally she was enthralled, but physically she was in _agony. _

_He's inside me…_she marveled at the revelation, when she could feel Booker's movements ripple up through her groin and into her abdomen.

_And it HURTS. _Was the completed thought as Elizabeth winced and cried while her whole body quivered and pulsated with pain. When Booker took her, she immediately knew that _nothing_ could have prepared her for what her body was now enduring. That's what it became for her, a test of endurance. Her hands curled into fists, and she gasped desperately for air. Booker had quickly fallen into a steady rhythm, and Elizabeth felt herself sliding forward just a little bit at a time between his thrusts. She was literally crawling away from him on hands and knees. Even beneath the rug she could feel the hard wood of the steps press uncomfortably against her shins and knees. Every time Elizabeth would wiggle forward Booker's hands would tighten around her corset's laces and yank her back in place, so he could impale the screaming interior of her anatomy. She was struggling and Elizabeth didn't know how to reconcile the pain with her desire to meld with him. When he bottomed out against her tender cervix, she cried, unable to breath and on the brink of tears.

Booker noted that their position required adjusting, for his pleasure and Elizabeth's sanity. The next time he withdrew from her, he got to his feet and picked her up by the corset one handed. Like a mother cat with its kitten, he effortlessly lifted her light body up from the middle of the steps in favor of moving her against the wall. Booker carefully set Elizabeth down on her knees, angling her on the steps, and once he made some minor adjustments with her body, like placing her hands flat against the wall's smooth surface, he dropped down on his knees behind her. He smashed the front of his body into Elizabeth's backside. Booker gripped the base of his cock and roughly guided it to the opening of her sex, penetrating her with a quick thrust of his hips. He felt her body spasm beneath him and heard her moan. Panting, Booker slipped a hand around her neck, tipping Elizabeth's head back so it rested against him. She needed him to talk to her, just like he needed to loose himself in her unbelievably perfect flesh. Her pulse raced underneath his fingers, and Booker leaned his head down to whisper in her ear.

"Take a deep breath," he rasped, pulling his cock back. When Booker felt the smooth muscles in Elizabeth's throat and chest inhale underneath his hand he pushed himself back into her hard. She exhaled with a violent gasp.

"Again," Booker demanded gruffly, gliding out of her once more, then ramming back into her on Elizabeth's exhale. He kept saying that over and over until she automatically did it on her own as she settled into his fairly slow, but intense rhythm. Her body was still taut with tension as Booker continued to thrust himself into her, but he'd kept her from crying or hyperventilating in panic so that was good.

"What… d—does… it feel… l-like?" Elizabeth barely mumbled in between her groans as he kept driving her harder and harder against the wall. Her voice was so soft, the words barely formed from her raspy breath. But, with his hand around her neck Booker had his face pressed close to hers, so he heard her.

Booker DeWitt did _not _engage in "pillow talk." He'd always been silent in bed. Talking and fucking just felt too damn weird for him but, he felt compelled to answer Elizabeth's question. Unlike being with other women, talking to Elizabeth didn't seem as awkward. Maybe it was her inexperience that allowed Booker to feel less self-conscious about it? Maybe it was because he cared about her? Booker wasn't sure, but either way, the thought of telling Elizabeth how amazing she felt and how hard he wanted to fuck her made him hot.

"You have no _fucking _idea how good you feel," he groaned, moving his mouth against a delicate ear.

"You are…" Booker began, pulling back.

"_Hot_," he hissed, pitching his hips forward to bury himself inside her warmth.

"_Wet_," Booker breathed pressing his free hand across the space where they were joined, wetting his fingers in blood and other bodily fluids.

"And _so fucking tight_, it makes me want to come," he growled the words into her ear, savoring the delicious moment where his head would slam into her cervix causing the walls of Elizabeth's sex to spasm all around the entire length of his shaft. Booker groaned, moving his hips into her a little faster than before.

"Your _perfect_," Booker panted, leaning back slightly to rub his wet fingers across the tight pucker of her anus.

His voice soothed Elizabeth, even when he wasn't talking. Just hearing Booker's groans of pleasure right next to her ear and feel his hot breath against her skin was enough to center her. She still experienced the pain, but she could float above it now. Elizabeth felt a strange blushing sense of pride at the knowledge that _she_ could do this to him, that _she_ could make him so wild and desperate for _her._ It was a euphoric vicarious pleasure that Elizabeth discovered the more she empathized with Booker's feelings. She held on to that feeling as her body was continually pressed uncomfortably against the wall, her shins and knees burned from being rubbed against the carpet, and her legs grew numb from kneeling. Elizabeth shuddered at the increase of pressure she felt against her anus. Booker told her he'd make every part of her body his. That apparently wasn't a promise. It was a guarantee; she thought when he pushed his pinky through the tight space.

The more fingers Booker watched become engulfed inside that small, fuzzy opening the faster his hips grinded into Elizabeth. She was squeezing his fingers out of reflex, just as her sex did the same thing to his cock; which was swelling larger and larger the quicker he pulled in and out.

_Fuck me_, Booker thought wildly. He needed to slow down because he was getting close. He didn't want the agonizing buildup of pressure to end, because Booker was certain that once it was all over Elizabeth would probably never want him to touch her again. But, she felt so damn good, and she kept squeezing him, making it harder and harder to keep himself in check. Booker needed to do something to slow himself down, but not diminish the addictive rush of power he felt at doing whatever he pleased with her. He reluctantly pulled his fingers out of her sweet behind, when an overwhelming desire to mark her stole over him. The sudden fantasy of Elizabeth's perfect ass turning red to black and blue underneath his hands made Booker shake.

Booker pulled out of her wet, bleeding sex and leaned back enough to give himself decent leverage before his hand smashed into the firm flesh of Elizabeth's buttocks with a loud crack. When he struck her, the steady stream of moans that Elizabeth had been making while he fucked her suddenly quieted. Like before, her change in body language made the hairs on his forearms stand on end. Booker hit her again, harder. It was fortunate that his hands were so big and she was so tiny, he'd never have to alternate cheek to cheek because most of his hand completely covered her entire bottom nicely. She trembled from his blows, as they stung her flesh pink, but Booker could have sworn he heard her giggle. Biting his lip, he hit her again and again with a series of blows varying the intensity of each strike, and yes…Elizabeth was giggling.

_Oh, my God… Woman-child, you are too fucking adorable for words._

A flood of sudden affection for the girl washed over Booker and made him dizzy. He violently shoved himself back inside Elizabeth's sore flesh with an ambivalent and conflicted thrust. When she was gasping and moaning again from pain he withdrew and swatted her rear again with a satisfying smack. He left a bright red imprint of his hand on her pale flesh. Booker had discovered an unexpected, but delightfully kinky game he could play with Elizabeth. He relished hearing the sounds that came spilling out of her mouth turning from desperate moans into throaty giggles and vice versa. By alternating the time Booker spent penetrating her with spanking her, it slowed down his love making enough that he no longer worried too much about getting ahead of himself when he didn't want to. But, over time it was her giggling that eventually got to him. That and seeing the skin of her sweet behind change into a vibrant shade of red with growing purple undertones, because the harder he hit her the more Elizabeth giggled.

Booker's whole body was screaming at him like a two year old child begging for release. He needed to go fast. Booker wanted to completely loose himself in her hot, receptive flesh. It would go hard for her physically and it just might emotionally tear him to pieces, but the prolonged arousal was beginning to make every part of his body ache. Booker carefully switched and adjusted his hands, so the one that he used to play with her behind wrapped around Elizabeth's shoulders. He pressed his forearm into her face.

"Bite down baby," Booker whispered softly into her ear.

When her lips and teeth wrapped around the flesh of his arm, he withdrew from the seductive temptation of her sex. Booker pushed Elizabeth down a little, trapping her between the wall and his body.

"I'm going to fuck you now," Booker warned her in a low gruff voice.

Swallowing hard, he gripped himself firmly with his clean hand, and tipped his pelvis forward. Booker felt the tuft of hairs tickle his head as he mercilessly shoved his swollen, throbbing member into her anus.

Elizabeth's teeth crunched into his skin when he penetrated her and the tiny part of Booker that still had a conscious wished he could empathize with Elizabeth's pain. But, instead of being a gentleman Booker pushed his fingers into her sex with his clean hand, so he could feel himself moving inside the tight tunnel of her anus through the thin, membranous wall that separated the two cavities of her body. Booker's blood was up already beyond boiling when he started to move his hips into Elizabeth, so it didn't take long for the exquisite buildup of friction to get him moving fast. Her teeth were worrying their way through his flesh, and the harder Elizabeth bit him, the more excited Booker became. The sounds of his heavy breathing and the raw, wet slap of flesh driving into flesh filled the stairway.

_Elizabeth…_

The sensations of her flesh surrounding him sent ripples of ecstasy through Booker's tensing body, making his hips pump faster as his climax continued to build and build. Booker crushed Elizabeth into the wall with the force of his weight as he continued to push himself into her. The agony he felt in his arm was growing into an acute stabbing pain, and that made Booker thrust harder and deeper. The pictures hanging on the wall began to gently vibrate as his movements grew more and more frantic.

_God, yes… keep squeezing…_

Why was it that no matter how fast he went it never seemed hard enough? Why was it that no matter how hard and deep he went it never hurt enough? Booker felt like he was cursed, he could never get off until someone was pain. Booker's arm felt warm and wet, and he hoped that he was bleeding.

"_Harder_ damn it," Booker cursed crudely in Elizabeth's ear. Only when her mouth twisted around the flesh of his arm, essentially grinding the skin down between her teeth did the intensity of the pain rise to a gratifying level.

_Harder, harder, harder, harder_, the word screamed through every fiber of his existence. When Booker finally began to teeter over the edge, his orgasm came rushing in to snap all the ferocious tension in his body. Desire rode him and drove him straight to hell over and over again. Booker knew what it felt like to come hard. This was something different. His climax was _violent_ and it broke Booker emotionally and physically, where his normally silent gasp for air transformed into a loud and wild moan that didn't sound remotely human. His fingertips stroked the skin inside if Elizabeth's sex as he felt the hot surge of his semen rush from the base of his pubic bone to explode through tip of his head. Even when Booker finally stopped screaming, he could still feel himself ejaculating inside Elizabeth's anus.

Booker's body melted against Elizabeth's, and they slid off the wall oozing down the steps together. His body was heaving on top of hers as he struggled to breath. He could feel Elizabeth shivering violently underneath him like a frail leaf blowing in the wind. Booker tried to move himself off of her, but he collapsed again, his reliable strength failing him when his legs buckled beneath him. One of his hands reached out to the wall to steady himself. Booker gradually brought himself to his knees and he heard Elizabeth sigh in quiet relief when he pulled out. Blood slowly trickled down his forearm where Elizabeth had bit him, but Booker barely glanced at it. He only had eyes for the petite young woman underneath him.

_Shit._

There was so much blood.

From the groin down there were rivers of red flowing down Elizabeth's pale thighs. She lay limply across the steps with her head turned off to the side. Her brown hair completely covered her face but, Elizabeth made no attempt to move it aside. In fact she didn't make any attempt to move at all. Staring at the blood and the bruises that now marred her perfect flesh; Booker was pissed at himself because if any other man had done to her what he just did…he would kill have killed them. What made it even worse was that looking at the marks on her body also made him insatiable. What did she tell him earlier? She wanted to be his habit. That was it. Well…Elizabeth had more than succeeded in rousing his curiosity. She had laid down a straight flush while he didn't even hold the high card. A sharp pang of guilt tugged at his heart. Booker wanted to wrap Elizabeth in his arms and soothe her. If she would let him…he was scared to touch her. He didn't want to push the hair from her face and have her look up at him with those big blue eyes only to see that she hated him.

_I'm such an asshole. _Booker reprimanded himself as he slowly rose to his feet. He was a real piece of work. Her virgin blood stained his hands and completely covered his dick, and he was fretting over her hating him for it. Why was that? Because to his shame, Booker just wanted to do it all over again. _Pull yourself together, you piece of shit. _He couldn't fix her, but he could at least make things better for her.

"Be right back," Booker mumbled, as he staggered towards the hallway like a drunk in search of a restroom.

He was grateful that his guess on where the Luteces bathroom would be worked out. Booker stumbled into the green and white tiled room, and immediately turned on the faucet at full blast not even bothering to shut the door. His normally steady hands shook as he fumbled with the bar of soap that he grabbed off the edge of the sink. Booker thoroughly washed his hands and his groin as quickly and efficiently as possible, trying not to let the swirling red water get to him. Once Booker had scrubbed himself clean, he tucked himself back into his underwear, but didn't bother to zip his fly or redo his belt buckle. Booker was too anxious to get back to Elizabeth to waste a moment paying attention to such trivial details. He snatched a washcloth off a towel rack and placed it under the faucet. Once it was completely saturated with cold water he wrung it between his hands, before turning on his heel to leave the room.

When he made it back to Elizabeth, Booker was feeling steadier and less dizzy. The fog of pleasure and guilt still clung to him like a second skin, but at least he was thinking more clearly. She was in the exact same position he had left her in, granted he didn't take very long, but it looked like Elizabeth hadn't even so much as twitched a muscle. Booker placed the washrag on his forearm so he could turn her over. The moment he touched her, Elizabeth's body trembled. Booker carefully rolled her over onto her back, and saw that her knees and shins had been scraped and rubbed raw with rug burn. He would deal with those later, but for now he pulled her dress down over her legs. Booker supported her head with one of his hands, while he moved the hair out of her face. Elizabeth's eyes were closed, and her breathing was irregular and shallow. Frowning, Booker took the damp cloth and pressed it against her forehead.

Liquid blue eyes opened at the cold touch of the washrag, and Booker held his breath. Those eyes were bright and alive, and to his astonishment, he did not see any resentment in them. Booker only saw fierce need in them, a need for him to be there for her. She tentatively reached for his face with her right hand.

_Are you real?_

_I'm real enough…_

He kissed the back of her hand before removing the wet cloth from her forehead, draping it over his arm. Booker gathered her shaking body in his arms, clutching her close to his chest. Her warm breath fell across his stubbly neck when she leaned in to nuzzle him. He was immediately overwhelmed with an emotion that he couldn't even begin to understand.

Even though he didn't deserve it she _forgave_ him.

Booker stroked Elizabeth's hair as he hugged her tightly, before placing her slender arms around his neck. He carefully rose to his feet, and began ascending the steps. She was as light as a bird in his arms, and Booker felt her body tremble against him at the sudden movement.

"I gotcha ya. It's okay," Booker murmured in her ear.

"I gotcha ya."

* * *

**Well, this chapter turned into a mini cliff hanger. BUT, I hope you're not too frustrated by that. :) As always thanks for reading/reviewing! Your comments keep me going. **

**(As a side note, I plan on shuffling the chapters around in both of my stories so they read in order. Sorry, if there is any confusion but my muse doesn't think linearly). **

**Until next time!**

******Addressing the violence**

giabread-I am generally very fond of the porn you write, but that anal sex without any proper preparation at the end was absolute, giant NO. If you're going to write porn, do the effort to research what the fuck you're writing, because what Booker just did is mutilating at best and lethal at worst, and considering that it leads to either death or a torn wall between anus and vagina and excrement coming out of the vagina as a result, not at all hot.

**AN: Please, allow me to explain to you why I wrote that scene the way I did. I did not write that scene out of ignorance on how anal sex is supposed to work, I wrote ****the anal sex without proper preparation on purpose. ****So, I am glad that it pissed you off. Congratulations, you're the first person to actually interpret the feeling I was going for. I *wanted* Booker to damage her, and I was cringing the entire time I wrote it. But, as a writer I would be doing the character a great disservice if I kept building up on my description of Booker's sexuality as brutal and DANGEROUS, and not follow through with that. I wanted to show the very ugly part of Booker's sexuality not just the titillating part. **

_And once Booker's blood was up, he took whatever he wanted, however he wanted it, never asking for permission, and didn't stop until one of them couldn't walk._

_A woman in his hands was full of regret..._

_"Then tell me that you __forgive_ me" Booker confessed, hoarsely.

**_Staring at the blood and the bruises that now marred her perfect flesh; Booker was pissed at himself because if any other man had done to her what he just did…he would kill have killed them._**

**I took a risk in writing what I did, and I'm not sorry for it. That scene was my effort to stay true to my interpretation of how I was building that part of Booker's character, even if meant describing something awful.  
**


	7. More Than This

**AN: I want to thank all of you for being patient in waiting for this chapter! Life has been a bit busy lately, but I hope all of you enjoy reading this. It is quite juicy, explicit, and all those wonderful naughty things. (and special thanks to L, who offered to Beta this chapter :) )**

* * *

Booker could feel Elizabeth's breath blow across the skin of his neck as he silently carried her up the steps in the Lutece labs. _Ghosts can just fucking wait,_ he thought defensively. Elizabeth needed him to take care of her right now. He could feel it in every miniscule tremor that rippled through her small frame. The lean hungry shape of his guilt stalked Booker as surely as his own shadow. But, as long as Elizabeth indicated to him that there was _something _he could do for her, Booker set it aside.

When he crossed the threshold of the bedroom, Booker immediately shut his ears to the crackle of electricity coming from the part of the Lutece tear machine that emerged from the floor boards. It wasn't important. Booker's attention was completely devoted to the young woman in his arms. An unexpected chill stole through his body as Booker stood at the edge of the bed. His jaw clenched with nervous tension as he stared at the green sheets, and then it finally hit him that he was _afraid._

Booker took a deep breath before reluctantly bending over to set Elizabeth down on the soft surface of the bed. Unable to look her in the eyes just yet, Booker slightly turned away from her. He slowly shrugged out of his leather shoulder holsters and blindly reached out for the remnants of his emotional walls. He came back empty handed.

_Shit. _

He could feel Elizabeth's eyes burning holes straight into his back. Booker let his holsters fall to the ground, the loud thud they made once they hit the wooden floor boards made him wince. He was such a _fucking idiot._ Emotions that Booker had thought died a long time ago now had a choking grip around his throat, and it scared the shit out of him. His life was a cycle, a pattern, even as self-destructive as it was; it still had a rhythm to it. Elizabeth was a wild card, and she just didn't rock the boat in his life, she fucking capsized it. Booker looked over his shoulder at the infinitely complicated woman-child, who had coaxed her way into his life. Her large blue eyes followed his every move with an unnerving curiosity. He could practically hear the gears turning inside that pretty little head of hers. Her gaze crippled him. It had been a _long_ time since he gave a damn about what someone else thought of him. Booker's fingers curled around the cold, damp cloth that still hung off his forearm. His bandaged hand closed around it in a hard grip.

_Alright, you piece of shit. Time to deal with the mess you've made, _he chastised himself bitterly. Booker nudged his shoulder holsters off to the side with the toe of his boot before he fully turned himself around. Her face…the way she looked at him. It was Heaven and it was Hell, and for once Booker wished that Elizabeth's expressive face weren't so emotionally revealing. He didn't want to be inside her head, but those glorious blue eyes were twin pools of raw need. Elizabeth wanted him to _love_ her, and she didn't even know it yet. It made him wonder what she saw in him. What unknown subconscious desire escaped from behind his eyes? He didn't want to know.

Booker placed the washcloth down next to Elizabeth, setting it aside for just a moment. He tried not to notice how her hands shook when she fidgeted with the thimble on her pinky. Swallowing past the hard lump in his throat, Booker quietly dropped to his knees. When they looked each other in the eye the space between them was divided by a wall of volatile, nervous tension. Elizabeth wanted his affection, and Booker didn't know how to give it to her without making it sexual. She needed emotional reassurance, but how could he even begin to support her when his own emotions were built upon a rotten foundation? Even though he wouldn't be anywhere near good enough, Booker would try to take care of Elizabeth as best he could. For her, Booker would try, even if he had no idea what he was doing.

Booker reached over Elizabeth's small, trembling hands in order to get at her corset. Her mouth slightly parted, when he began unhooking the remaining eyelets. It took only seconds for Booker to remove the garment because it was already half off anyway, but knowing that did absolutely nothing to calm her. Elizabeth's heart had awoken from its shell shocked torpor, and it furiously beat against the confinement of her ribcage. She watched Booker's incredibly quick hands untie the laces of her boots before he pulled them right off her feet, even taking her stockings with them. Now, the only remaining article of clothing that kept her from being completely naked was her dress. Shaking she braced herself on the palms of her hands and tilted her lower body forward so he could more easily remove it. Elizabeth expected Booker to quickly pull the dark blue velvet material off her body, but she was surprised to see that he hesitated.

A lock of dark hair had fallen in front of his face, and Elizabeth saw the muscles in his throat flex and bunch with tension as he swallowed. She tilted her head off to the side in order to see Booker's face better. Elizabeth saw his green eyes go dark with a longing that was shaped and sharply edged with bitterness. She wished she could say something to him, but the words would not come. Elizabeth's heart was still living inside of Booker's skin, and the empathy she had for him as he experienced his overwhelming barrage of emotions consumed her as well, paralyzing her in dead silence.

When Booker finally put his hands on the distinctive jut of Elizabeth's hip bones, her mouth went dry and she trembled all over. He slowly pulled on the fabric of her dress. It was like watching the curtains lift in a theater, inch by inch, more and more of her lower body was revealed. That was when she saw all the blood.

_Oh. Is that really all mine?_ Elizabeth wondered with distant curiosity. If she hadn't been coated head to toe with Daisy Fitzroy's blood when she stabbed her in the back with a pair of scissors, Elizabeth surmised that she would have been shocked by the crimson streaks that ran down her white thighs. As it was, she felt possessed by a strange macabre fascination in studying the various cuts and bruises that marked her smooth skin. She had the weirdest sense of déjà vu. It was like seeing herself in Lady Comstock's dress for the first time. Even stark naked, Elizabeth felt like she had adorned herself in yet another unfamiliar garment, one that brought her an acute awareness of a different aspect of herself she hadn't known existed.

_This is me naked. This is what I look like after I've had sex. I've had sex…_

Elizabeth tossed the notion back and forth inside her head thoughtfully.

_I'm still me…yet I am different now._

She decided that she definitely preferred being a lover over a murderer.

Elizabeth shivered when Booker ran the cold washcloth up the length of her right arm. He passed it over her shoulder to follow the curve of her collar bone. When he reached the hollow of Elizabeth's neck Booker dipped his hand lower and pressed the damp cloth across her breast. Her nipple tightened in response to the cool material and her heart leapt inside her chest. But, Booker's hand didn't settle there. He transferred the washrag down from her breast to her stomach leaving a damp trail of moisture across her soft skin. He continuously moved the cloth around Elizabeth's ribcage crossing it over to the other side of her body, guiding it up the underside of her left breast. Booker paused for a moment, and a patch of goose flesh erupted from her skin when his thumb grazed her nipple before his hand migrated over to her other shoulder.

_This is what I look like when I am wanted, _she mused. Her long dark eyelashes fluttered down demurely when the cloth lightly ghosted down her arm. Again Elizabeth shuddered against the coldness of the material, and wondered, if she reached down to him would he be excited? Would Booker want her? Elizabeth was certain that if she placed her hands in between _his_ thighs just like he did with her, the answer would be a definite _yes. _

_ Good God, what is wrong with me?_ Elizabeth thought with chill. She had just experienced more pain and physical discomfort than she thought was possible for her to endure…but she _did _endure it didn't she? Elizabeth remarked with quiet satisfaction. Her body was covered with scrapes and bruises; she was sore, bleeding, and shaking. But, the urge to tempt Booker burned like fire inside her stomach.

_I must be crazy. _And yet, she sensed that there was something else buried beneath the brutal and aggressive way Booker handled her. There was an undercurrent of bewildered desperation that compelled him to react in certain ways. Just like breaking a code, it was that very emotion that called to the seductive, growing sense of self-awareness that allowed Elizabeth's perceptive mind to decipher what sex with Booker was all about. The moment where she had secretly watched him masturbate was her first clue. Now that they actually had sex and the physical shock was beginning to wear off, Elizabeth could look at Booker DeWitt with clarity. It was all so simple, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

Sex was power.

Sex was control.

Elizabeth watched Booker carefully clean the cuts and scrapes that opened her flesh at the shins and knees. Seeing him on his knees in front of her, observing the way his hands barely touched the skin of her calves was very revealing.

Booker didn't have a poker face to shield the outside world from knowing him. He didn't have the energy or gumption to care about what others thought. His poker face was the lies that he told himself to keep functioning. Booker was domineering to the core, and he did indeed always get what he wanted. When they had sex Booker had manipulated then controlled her body in every aspect of their coupling; which was to be expected with him having all the experience and her having none. But, he did so with hair raising sadistic fervor. Booker trapped her with his physical strength and _used_ her. He was obviously stronger than her and Elizabeth was a small woman to begin with. So, logic told her that what he did was _extremely_ unnecessary. Booker didn't have to drive every single ounce of his abnormal strength into her body.

But, he did anyway.

That's why Booker had all but begged for her forgiveness, before he took her body, and made her bleed. That's why he tried to push her away every time Elizabeth tried to get close to him. (To be fair, Booker did verbally warn her that he would not be gentle, and he was true to his word when he took her virginity.) Booker's overwhelming need to dominate was closely tied to his sex drive because the act reminded him of how _out of control _he truly was. He risked life and limb to come to an unknown place to collect a girl in order to pay a debt. She was a woman half his size, and he violently crushed her body against a wall over and over again until his lust was finally slaked without so much as a single thought for her safety.

This was not a man who was in control.

Elizabeth saw him so clearly now. Booker's only control was repression, and his only emotional defenses were lies. She was sad for him, but that wasn't the feeling she was currently experiencing. Elizabeth was starting to breath inside of her sexual skin, and just like a shark could smell a single drop of blood in the water miles off, Elizabeth could sense emotional weakness. This unfamiliar new part of her that was stirred awake had power over him. Sexual attraction acted as a double edged sword. If Elizabeth desired him, all she had to do was put her hand in the tiger's cage and she would be bitten…_badly._ Booker wouldn't have much of a choice because when it came to things he wanted, he always got them. Desire gave Booker DeWitt tunnel vision, and Elizabeth could exercise that wild desperation from him any time she wanted to at the drop of a dime.

_So that's what control feels like._

It was thrilling, and tasted sweeter than cotton candy. As a woman kept locked up in a tower for her entire life, Elizabeth decided that she could tolerate physical pain for an emotional high. She wanted to manipulate him. Elizabeth wanted Booker to ache just as badly as she did, because every time she looked at him she felt the helpless need to wrap herself around him and never let go. She wanted to make him crazy because he infuriated her. She never wanted Booker DeWitt to stop _feeling._ Elizabeth would hurt him because she wanted him to adore her, since he fought so hard to _not_ become attached to her.

_I will make you do the things you do not wish to do. I will make you speak when you would rather keep silent. What you don't acknowledge I will make you see. _Elizabeth could keep Booker in an emotionally unstable place and shred his heart apart piece by piece until it belonged to her.

Once he had finished tending to Elizabeth's knees and shins, Booker's eyes fell upon the bloody mess he had made of her groin and thighs. The sight of it made him extremely edgy, so he rocked back ever so slightly on his heels and looked elsewhere. With Elizabeth completely naked, Booker could fully appreciate the lovely vision she made perched on the green bed sheets. She was truly a fascinating woman to look at, but not in the traditional sense of beauty. It was the assemblage of stark contrasts that made up her whole figure which Booker found so intriguing. Whenever his eyes fell on a feature that was almost adolescent in its delicacy his gaze would be led straight to an area of her body that was overtly and obviously adult. At the moment Booker stared at the transition between her flat abdomen and the smooth curve of her hips. Elizabeth's pelvis was a lot narrower than most women. Which made it appear juvenile all by itself, but her waist was so ridiculously tiny that the sudden contrast made her lower body appear very womanly. Booker also knew that those hips were attached to a _perfect_ ass that didn't quit. Just thinking about it made his heart pound. Booker wanted to kiss every inch of that tempting little body. He wanted to spread her legs apart and lick the blood right off her smooth skin. He…

_Jesus Fucking Christ….get a God damn grip, Booker. She needs you to take care of her, not take advantage of her. _He thought to himself growing angry. The blood on Elizabeth's body wasn't even dry, and yet he could feel himself lengthening and growing hard with each passing second as they awkwardly stared at each other. The silence and his dick stretched on simultaneously. He should probably say something to her.

"Better?" Booker asked her, nervously clearing his throat

"Mmmmhmmm," Elizabeth replied with a nod.

Fear and excitement had fused together for her. So, when Elizabeth saw the dark look that shaped his mouth into an angry scowl, a thrill of adrenaline surged through her body at the realization that she knew exactly what it meant. Booker was definitely thinking about something sexual, and she figured out that the angrier he looked, the more Booker wanted to do whatever it was he was thinking about. He seemed to be expecting more of a talkative response from her. But, she kept silent for the moment, until she thought of what she wanted to say. Elizabeth was not interested in the things that Booker "told" himself he wanted. It was what he tried to hide that kept her curious and quivering with anticipation. If Booker expected her first sexual experience to make her shirk away from him, he was very wrong. He had just inadvertently showed her just how much a woman's sexuality could affect a man. A self-aware woman was a dangerous creature indeed. A self-aware _and_ empathetic woman could make a man her slave.

Elizabeth bowed her head so her hair fell into her eyes. "am I a mess?" She whispered softly. Was the manipulation necessary? Did she even care?

"Not at all," he answered her gruffly.

Booker's words were curt and succinct, the tone in his voice made her body feel like liquid. Perhaps a kinder, saner woman would have left someone like him alone. Playing games with him was like flirting with dynamite. Then again, _she_ wasn't exactly predictable either, now was she? Elizabeth peered at him through a veil of her hair and it occurred to her that she was mimicking some of Booker's own particular habits. Whenever he looked at her with his hair in his eyes it made Elizabeth's stomach twist into knots. She wanted him to feel that. Booker held the washcloth he used to clean her cuts and cool her fevered skin in a tight fist. He was so _unstable_…

It was wonderful.

_I guess I am crazy._

Or maybe she had more in common with him than she initially thought. Booker had taken her physical and emotional vulnerability to a wall, and now that she finally saw what made his troubled heart tick Elizabeth wasn't feeling particularly kind. She couldn't physically overpower Booker, but she could emotionally rip him apart. It would only take just one little push. Elizabeth wetted her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. Even through a curtain of hair, he noticed her do it. Booker's hand flexed around the cloth and Elizabeth shivered. She didn't care if his conflicted feelings drove him straight to hell. She wanted what she wanted.

Elizabeth extended her right leg, and lightly pushed the toes of her foot against one of Booker's knees. "So, then tell me what you're thinking." She murmured.

The washrag fell out of Booker's hand, and she could almost feel desire override his discomfort the moment she touched him. He enfolded Elizabeth's slender ankle in his large hand, slowly stroking the delicate bones beneath the thin skin with the calloused pad of his thumb. Booker placed his other hand around the flesh of Elizabeth's calf and squeezed. All of the blood in his body surged straight to his groin.

_Baby doll, there ain't no fucking words to describe what I'm thinking right now, _Booker noted darkly. But, he tried to answer her anyway. Shit, he could always just state the blatantly obvious.

"You're beautiful." Booker told her when his long fingers grazed the back of her knee.

Elizabeth rewarded him with a smile. "Aaaand?" she said, the tone in her voice modulated playfully.

"And I want you," he added quietly.

It was a very simplistic reply in comparison to what he was actually feeling, but at least it was true. Elizabeth was an enchanting wisp of a woman, who had one hell of a throwing arm and could hit just as hard. She shivered, and smiled at him. Her body glowed just as much as it bled. She was letting him _try_ to take care of her. What astonished Booker even more was that she didn't cringe away from him whenever he touched her. If he were a praying type, he would have been thanking God in Heaven for Elizabeth's inexhaustible patience with him. But, he wasn't that kind of man. So, Booker DeWitt could only feel extremely grateful that Lady Luck didn't spit in his face for once. But, as fucking usual, what Booker knew he _should_ be doing and what he actually _wanted _to do went in opposite directions. He _should_ handle Elizabeth as gently as good China, but all he wanted to do was throw her against another wall and fuck her hard all over again.

He had absolutely no fucking right to see her that way. Everything about Elizabeth made him desperate and half-crazy. So that's why Booker kept his answers short and to the point. He raised one of her legs and brought a foot to his mouth. Elizabeth giggled when Booker's stubble rubbed against the top of her foot as he kissed it. _God damn it, that sound…_would joyfully drive him straight into the pit of hell with a smile on his face.

"Tell me why," Elizabeth managed to get out in between her giggles.

"Why you're beautiful or why I want you?" Booker replied, sucking her little toes into his mouth.

"They're not the same?" she asked, intrigued. The fierce curiosity in Elizabeth's voice made Booker smile as he ran his tongue across the top of her sensitive foot.

"No." Booker answered her as he glided his warm mouth up her foot, wrapping his lips and tongue around Elizabeth's dainty ankle. Her petite frame twitched in response, and that made him squeeze the hand he had around her calf even tighter.

Booker's hand kneaded the flesh of her calf just below the back of her knee as his mouth traveled up her other leg. His stubble and saliva stung the raw skin of Elizabeth's shins, but his tongue was wet and so soft. The place in between her thighs was starting to ache again, and Elizabeth welcomed the agonizing sensation.

"Then tell me both," she whispered breathlessly.

Now, how did he know she would say something like that? Booker wondered with amusement. He enjoyed feeling the tremors that made Elizabeth's legs quiver and he liked hearing her subtle, quiet in takes of breath even better. Desire was once again rapidly overwhelming his guilt and his reason.

"Well, Elizabeth, I ain't a poet," Booker began with a lazy half-smile; raising his head to shamelessly look her up and down.

_Baby doll, do you have any idea what you do to me?_

"But, I'd venture to say that you are…" he paused for a moment choosing his next words carefully.

_So damn fuck-able it ain't right. _

_You weigh nothing and bend like a pretzel. You're smooth in places you shouldn't be. I can find your clit and make it hard with just a single lick. You giggle when I slap your perfect little ass, which drives me crazy. Your pussy fits me better than a fucking glove, and it's tighter than a vice and twice as dangerous. You have the face of angel, but when you come, you sound just as raunchy as any whore. You were made to be fucked… hard and often._

"_The_ most well put together woman I've had the pleasure to put my hands on."

In Booker DeWitt's opinion, it was one thing to think of graphic images about a woman with equally crude words to go with them, and quite another to actually _call_ a woman those things. So when he finally thought of something to say that didn't involve a long string of curse words, Booker was actually proud of himself. His answer was a little too obtuse for his tastes, but God damn…he actually sounded _polite _for once.

Elizabeth's eyebrows furrowed, and she tilted her head off to the side like a curious bird as she looked at him. Booker leaned in to kiss her knee and he noticed a very light splatter of tiny freckles across that area of her skin. _Adorable_…he thought, opening his mouth wide enough to sink his teeth into Elizabeth's kneecap before he kissed her there. When he heard her gasp, Booker's hot tongue slithered around the front of her knee to lick the hollow space just behind it. His other hand migrated up from Elizabeth's calf to sink his fingers into her thigh where there was more flesh to play with.

_Damn. _

Booker was so hard it physically hurt.

"All of your ins and outs are perfect…_trust_ me." He whispered across Elizabeth's blood stained skin. Booker's heart was thundering inside his chest when both of his hands slid underneath her thighs. Slender iron fingers sunk into willing, malleable flesh, when he pulled her legs apart. Booker watched Elizabeth's eyes grow wide and wild when he slowly passed his tongue over the bloody flesh. The taste of metal and salt filling his mouth made Booker's cock swell all the way from the tip of his head straight down to the base.

"You look like an angel, baby doll. That's what beauty is," he rasped gruffly.

The look in Booker's eyes could match the surface of the sun, and Elizabeth felt an addictive rush of adrenaline thrill her heart. She took a long, deep breath. Elizabeth had to restrain herself from the temptation of pushing all of his buttons at once.

_Don't rush. Piece by piece, remember? _She lectured herself silently.

"But the sounds that come out of your mouth when I do this," Booker told her, leaning forward to lick her swollen sex. His fingers dug into Elizabeth thighs as she finally moaned, when he gazed back up at her, his mouth was bloody.

"That's what makes me want you," Booker finished, sliding his hands up Elizabeth's thighs until he cradled her smooth buttocks.

She felt a slight sensation of floating as Booker pulled her towards him, lifting her body and rocking her back. Lying down never felt so good. The bed was nice and soft against the bare skin of Elizabeth's back, but Booker's mouth sliding along her thighs as he licked her clean of blood and other body fluids felt even softer. His mouth and tongue were hot, silky phantoms that bathed her with attention. Elizabeth was still very sore, but Booker's slow, sensuous, dripping wet licks were getting her excited all over again. Whenever Booker's tongue lapped at the lips of her swollen sex she gasped and moved her hips forward to meet his mouth eagerly.

There was nothing more than this…Elizabeth shivering underneath his hands and her blood filling his mouth. When Elizabeth rubbed herself against his face, Booker firmly squeezed the flesh of her rear end, rocking her pelvis forward. He carefully parted the petals of her lips, and his tongue teasingly passed over her entrance. Booker voraciously licked and sucked every bit of virgin blood right off her skin; and the male pride he felt at being able to get Elizabeth sexually aroused after hurting her so much was primal and overwhelming. She tasted so_ good, _and Booker's mouth was completely wild and unrestrained as he ate her out. With the way Elizabeth was starting to moan, he knew he could get her off with just his tongue and mouth. Booker lapped at her opening faster, pressing the flat of his tongue into the thin, delicate folds of bright pink skin.

She was getting nice and slippery; her groin was gliding across his mouth, and…

_God damn it…_Booker thought. He wanted to shove his fingers straight into the molten flesh of her sex fast and hard, but Booker knew he should avoid doing something like that to her. Elizabeth was bound to be sensitive and tender; doing that would only cause her unnecessary discomfort. But, the closer she actually came to climaxing the more the temptation grew.

_She's so wet and hot…_

The urge to put his fingers inside her was so strong Booker found himself stroking her with his thumb before he even realized he was doing it. That was fine. He was fine. He just had to pace himself, go slow, and make sure his fingers stayed on the outside. That was all. At least that's what Booker told himself, until he actually rubbed them across Elizabeth's humid flesh. If only that had been enough to satisfy him, but it wasn't. Booker wanted to his watch his fingers disappear inside Elizabeth. He wanted to feel the muscles of her pussy contract and squeeze them tight as she came. He wanted to shove his cock inside of her. He…

_What the FUCK is wrong with me?_

Booker wondered with furious frustration. Couldn't he even make her come now without hurting her in some way? His self-control was a fragile thing, he had always known that. But, his feelings towards Elizabeth went so far beyond his self-control it might have been comical if Booker hadn't been so disturbed by it. He wanted _too _much. What was it about this skinny, little, woman-child that made him so desperately aggressive? Booker didn't know, but the one thing he knew for sure was that he had better slow the hell down before he was so far gone he couldn't stop himself.

Booker flicked his tongue over her clitoris one last time, before moving his mouth up past her pubic bone, slowly kissing his way up her body. When Booker's lips reached the warm, soft skin of Elizabeth's lower stomach, electricity raced up his spine. It was the only remaining part of Elizabeth's body that he hadn't really explored. Her stomach was taunt, flatter than a wash board, and deliciously vulnerable. It was the one place that actually didn't bring out the violence in him. He stroked the quivering knot of muscles beneath her abdomen with his hands and mouth. Elizabeth's stomach didn't incite aggression, it inspired reverence. The impulse to sink his teeth into that exposed, tender flesh was absent, but the urge that filled its place was far more frightening.

He didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to come inside her.

That was a _very_ dangerous fantasy. One that Booker needed to banish from his mind as quickly as possible. It was alright to lustfully _imagine_ what it would feel like to take his pleasures with his dick still buried inside of Elizabeth when he was masturbating _alone_. That was also before they actually had sex. Booker knew now how amazing it felt to be with Elizabeth. Her perfect flesh had surrounded his cock and squeezed it in ways that made him delirious. Her stomach made him _want_. It made him _remember_ when he needed to forget.

Ever since Booker's wife had passed away, there were certain elements of the sex act that he did not engage in. Even if it was only a one night stand he never let himself climax inside a woman during intercourse. Letting himself go like that was one gamble Booker DeWitt was not interested in betting on. The thought of the possibility of becoming a father again, even accidentally, hurt too damn much. Booker could never have sex face to face with a woman either. He didn'_t_ care for seeing the looks on their faces while he fucked them, and the thought of _them_ seeing _him _take his pleasure, and watching him come, made Booker feel ashamed. So, he took his women from behind without comment and usually without a sound.

With Elizabeth things were already different in some ways than what he was used to, and that made Booker very anxious. He hastily placed his hands off to the side, and his tongue left a moist trail of saliva from Elizabeth's navel all the way up to her breasts. Booker pushed the conflicting desire to the back of his mind, burying it as much as possible. No matter how unbelievable Elizabeth's body felt he stubbornly refused to entertain such a fantasy, especially with her vulnerable and trembling from even the slightest touch of his hands.

Booker's tongue slithered sinuously across the silken surface of Elizabeth's firm perky breasts. He took a nipple inside his mouth elongating it and making it hard as he sucked. His fingers pinched Elizabeth's other nipple, twisting it from side to side making her moan and squirm beneath him seductively. The moment she started to press her hips into him, Booker felt like he would die. He leaned his entire body forward and lifted, taking his weight completely off of Elizabeth, supporting himself on his arms.

_God, you're beautiful. _ Booker thought, looking down at her.

The way she looked, the way she moved, the way she smelled, the way she felt, and the way she sounded, everything about her made him so…._helpless._ He wrapped his lips around the curve of her collar bone and bit down sharply. Elizabeth yelped and fiercely held onto his wrists. Damn him to hell, he wanted _too_ much. Booker berated himself sullenly, crashing his mouth into Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth wrapped her tongue around his, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. She was enjoying watching the psychological drama play out in Booker's head. Elizabeth didn't have to read his exact thoughts to interpret the intense conflict of desires that moved his attention around and around her body. A sensuous lick here, a sharp bite there, his body slightly vibrating with tension, all those gestures were her spies. He was trying very hard to be anyone, but himself. Elizabeth liked watching him struggle because at any moment she knew she could shatter him anytime she wanted. He was pushing his tongue a little harder and further into her mouth now. She slipped her small hands into his shirt, seeking skin to skin contact. Elizabeth felt the hardness of Booker's stomach muscles beneath her finger tips, and nipped his lower lip as she kissed him back wildly. _That's right, _Elizabeth thought with satisfaction when Booker pushed his tongue into her mouth aggressively.

_Want me...take me…love me. _She glided her lips across Booker's. Her mouth matched his scalding, angry rhythm, kiss for kiss. Elizabeth breathed around his tongue and into him, feeling the crest of Booker's narrow hips when her hands roamed down from his stomach. Elizabeth decided that she wanted Booker to have sex with her like this, him kissing her wildly, as they grinded and melted into each other with abandon. Elizabeth would keep her hands on his hips so she could feel the strength of his body move into her. It would probably really hurt, but the idea still turned her on anyway. Elizabeth's fingers dropped slightly lower.

Suddenly, Booker ripped his mouth away from hers. He was breathing heavily, and there was dark fire burning in his green cat eyes. "So…what are _you _thinking?" He barely asked, panting. Elizabeth found his question very sweet. He didn't know how to do what they both wanted without causing her pain. He needed her to help him figure out how. Elizabeth would have loved to give him a confidant answer but, the trouble was she was too inexperienced to do that. And even as quick minded as Elizabeth was, even she hadn't discovered what that something was just yet. _One step at a time, _she reflected.

"Why do you still have your clothes on?" Elizabeth answered him with a deceptively good natured smile.

Unable to help himself, Booker smiled back at the petite woman beneath him. Elizabeth playfully tugged at his loose shirt, and Booker's hair fell into his eyes as his smile widened. Her pounding heart skipped a beat. She was _finally_ going to be able to run her hands all over his strong, lean body. Wide eyed she watched him sit up. Booker pulled off both his vest, neck tie, and his shirt in one smooth, seamless motion. Even with the large bandage that Elizabeth had wrapped around Booker's chest to cover his injury she could still see the dips and cuts of muscle that defined his upper body. Just like she was back in the ally of Prosperity Plaza, Elizabeth wanted to run her tongue along the rough texture of his scarred skin. Booker moved off the bed and stepped out of his shoes, and Elizabeth sat up to watch him strip down the rest of the way completely fascinated.

Drawing and painting was one of the hobbies that helped Elizabeth kill time while she was locked up in her tower on Monument Island. Elizabeth had a fine eye for detail. So, when she saw Booker DeWitt completely naked it triggered memories of the hours she spent reading books on Classic Greek sculpture.

_There is a handsome, naked man in front of me, and all I can think of is something scholarly. _Elizabeth mused privately, as she stared at Booker's body. But, it was true. His proportions were beautiful. He had a deep, broad chest, with wide shoulders, long, sinewy arms and legs corded with lean muscle, very narrow hips, a well sculpted backside, and he was indeed extremely aroused. Elizabeth was sure she must be blushing at least a little. But, she finally understood what Booker's comment about being, "well put together" meant. Even his amount of body hair was just right, he had enough to make him appear very masculine, but he wasn't carpeted with it. He was also heavily scarred, and that might have diminished his attractiveness in some women's eyes, but not to Elizabeth. Booker's scars only reminded her of how much he had been hurt. The wound across his chest would become the biggest and ugliest scar yet, and he obtained that nearly fatal injury from protecting her. Elizabeth's throat closed tight with emotion, as she experienced a sudden rush of affection for the damaged man in front of her. Elizabeth was sliding off the bed and throwing her arms around him in a wild embrace before she even realized she had moved.

Booker staggered back, overcome by Elizabeth's unexpected passionate display of affection. Her slender arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, her head nestled into his chest, and her fine hair tickled his scars.

_My sweet girl, _he thought trembling.

Booker was completely overwhelmed. He was all raw nerves and brutal energy. He didn't know what was happening, and he was just making it up as they went along. Whenever Booker was with a woman he could spend hours indulging her sexual desires before his own needs would drive him to take what he wanted. So, his partner's pleasure and his own were starkly divided. Booker DeWitt used women. His pleasure always signaled the end of a sexual encounter, never a beginning. And yet there they were. Elizabeth was clinging to him and his own body sang with tension in response. He could still scarcely believe that she wanted him. Booker grasped her small chin with his fingers and tilted her face up towards him. He dipped his head and kissed Elizabeth's forehead, nose, and eyes, before he forced his tongue into her mouth with a needy kiss.

Booker pressed his knuckles up and down her spine, making Elizabeth strain to press herself against him even more. Her delicate hands were all over him, his chest, his back, she even squeezed his ass, but they never settled in one spot. It was almost as if she couldn't make up her mind on what part of his body she wanted to grope more, and that thought made his erection throb against her warm stomach. Their naked bodied pressed into each other fiercely, and Booker could feel Elizabeth melting in his arms as he moved his fingers up and down her back like ghosts. He felt little toes brush the tops of his own feet. Elizabeth was standing on top of his feet on her tip toes. Her whole body was straining and arching to kiss him back. She pushed her tongue past Booker's lips, and he grabbed her perfect ass with both hands as she grinded her naked body into him. Elizabeth dipped her tongue in and out of his mouth teasingly, and Booker wanted to spin her around, bend her over, and fuck her.

_Christ…_Every nerve in Booker's body pulsed with excitement, and once again for what seemed like the hundredth time, he had to force himself to resist his urges. Booker squeezed Elizabeth's firm behind angrily, before he picked her up by the waist. He almost lost it when the flesh of Elizabeth's sex rubbed against his cock as he picked her up. But, instead of fucking her, he threw her onto the bed. Elizabeth's body bounced when she hit the soft green sheets. Booker didn't immediately join her on the bed. Instead he stared at Elizabeth's perfect little body with clenched fists. At the moment the temptation to take her hard and fast was too strong for him to be near her.

_Come here, damn you. _Elizabeth thought with frustration. Her eyebrows furrowed together and she moved her arm out to the side, inviting him to join her.

_Baby doll, you don't understand…I can't touch you without fucking you right now. _Booker glowered at her, even though it was himself that he was pissed at. But, she skewered him with her big blue eyes, and impatient pout. _God damn it. _Against his will, he found himself moving towards her anyway. He needed a plan.

Booker's knees sunk down into the bed. He grabbed Elizabeth's ankles and yanked her body towards him. His large hands slid up and around her thighs. They quivered when he touched them; and Booker grinded his teeth together as he spread her legs apart. He lowered his head down to Elizabeth's groin and gave her a generous lick. His hands squeezed her legs, holding them in a desperate grip. Booker didn't even dare use a hand to tug her hood up to better expose her clitoris he was so worried that he'd do something stupid. He wet his mouth and rubbed it around the tender flesh of Elizabeth's sex. Booker sucked her soft lips into his mouth while he used the tip of his tongue to part them. When he swirled it around Elizabeth's narrow opening his fingernails dug into her skin.

Booker's tongue was soft and slippery against the space between her legs. His mouth was so wet even his bristly stubble didn't bother her. She wanted to loose herself in the sensations that were slowly beginning to build inside her body. But, Booker's hold around Elizabeth's legs was so tight, they were practically tingling. It was a very distracting feeling, and it kept her from really enjoying herself because Elizabeth could tell that Booker was holding himself back. Something had to be done about that. Elizabeth held her body perfectly still; she figured that not moving at all was probably the best way to get his attention.

It worked. When Booker lifted his head up from her groin his eyes were dark and smoldering.

"Feel good?" he growled.

"Yes…but what about you? Can't I make you feel good too?" she asked him very diplomatically.

A light went on somewhere behind Booker's feral green eyes.

"You do."

Elizabeth sat up, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him.

"Oh, you know…at the same time," she said. Elizabeth struggled to get the words out of her mouth because she wasn't hundred percent sure of what she was asking for. She only knew that Booker had the answer.

Booker reached for her face and slowly traced the outline of Elizabeth's full sensual mouth with the rough pad of his thumb. He could already feel the fires of hell roasting his feet, not that it ever stopped him before. He stretched out onto his side and propped himself up with an arm, examining the bewildered and wanton expression that moved across Elizabeth's angelic face.

Elizabeth stared at the hard mound of flesh that formed Booker's bicep and she had the sudden urge to sink her teeth into it. Her head was starting to lean forward when Booker quickly snatched one of her tiny hands. His lips briefly pressed against the back of it, before he flicked his tongue over her index finger. Gooseflesh cascaded all over her body as chills crawled up Elizabeth's spine. She knew that sensation, and it thrilled her.

Booker watched the pink buds of Elizabeth's nipples tighten when he sucked more of her fingers into his mouth. He slowly moved his tongue back and forth in-between the webbing of Elizabeth's fingers. His head throbbed when he heard her suck in a quiet breath as he moved his mouth around her hand bathing it with saliva. Booker swished her slender fingers around his mouth suggestively, before finally pulling them out. He took her wet hand and ran it down the length of his body, past his navel, stopping at his lower stomach.

"Do you want to please me?" Booker asked breathing heavily as he pressed her hand against his fevered flesh.

"Yes," Elizabeth told him softly, nodding her head. She turned her body to lie down on her side so she could mirror him.

_Teach me to control you._ She thought with ferocious anticipation, as her heart thudded inside her chest making her body gently shake.

At her answer, Booker lowered her hand and placed it around his swollen member. His broad frame shuddered at the first touch of Elizabeth's moist hand on his groin. Booker swallowed hard. He was pleased to see that when he looked down, Elizabeth's delicate hand couldn't completely close all the way around the girth of his cock. _God damn it,_ why was their size difference such a huge turn-on for him?

For Elizabeth, it was strange and fascinating to hold the body part that had torn her open. The form of his appendage was completely rigid, but the skin that covered it was burning hot, thin, and very soft. She could feel all the blood rushing just beneath it. His member throbbed like it had a pulse and life of its own, and she felt even more empathy towards Booker than she had before. Booker's large hand folded around Elizabeth's small one as he began to stroke himself.

He moved their hands together at a leisurely but steady pace. She fought the bright red blush that was starting to bloom on her cheeks. Elizabeth focused on the supple movement of rippling skin beneath her hand as she concentrated on attuning herself to Booker's rhythm. They continued on like that for quite a while as Booker took his time in getting her well acquainted with him. Unknown to Elizabeth, Booker's tendency towards self-denial and his habit of drawing out the act of sex as long as possible actually made him a very patient teacher. It was only when Booker's breath started to become more labored did he remove his hand.

_Fuck me. I should not be enjoying this so much, _Booker thought darkly.

He sucked in a ragged breath of air as Elizabeth continued stroking him. Booker was starting to develop a real fondness for watching her small hand move up and down his cock. Her pace varied here and there from fast to slow, but that was to be expected. The important thing was Elizabeth never loosened her grip around his shaft, she kept a firm hold on him and the constant pressure kept building his excitement little by little. Once again Booker's instincts proved spot on. He knew at the very moment Elizabeth indicated to him that she wanted him to feel pleasure as well, that if he showed her something, she would get good at it fast. An aspect of Elizabeth's personality that Booker picked up on the more time he spent with her was that she was one of those obsessive leaner types, who immediately wanted to become a master at whatever she tried. So just as Booker anticipated, Elizabeth was adapting to different parts of the sex act as rapidly as she adapted to combat. Booker's heart pumped a fresh wave of blood straight down to his groin when he firmly gripped the side of Elizabeth's face.

"Open your mouth," he rasped.

Immediately, Elizabeth's full lips parted open for him. Booker pushed his index finger into her mouth. He purposefully moved it back and forth inside her mouth, and she slid her tongue around his digit from top to bottom, remembering how he had sucked and played with her own fingers. Booker grunted and pushed yet another finger into Elizabeth's mouth. She eagerly slipped her tongue through the webbing of his fingers. Elizabeth wanted to see if that excited him as much as it excited her. Booker's erection swelled in her hand and he shuddered.

_Why, yes it does._ She mused squeezing him a little harder.

Elizabeth knew that other women were bound to learn sexual things from men, although she doubted that a "lady" was supposed to be so enthusiastic about it, or enjoy it so much. But, she had already condemned her social expectations straight to hell the minute she escaped her tower with Booker DeWitt.

"More," he softly growled at her, and Elizabeth opened her mouth even wider.

Shaking, Booker glided the rest of his fingers past her moist lips into the soft, wet space of her mouth. With the exception of his thumb, almost his whole hand was inside Elizabeth's mouth. Tingles of electricity danced all over Booker's body as he pushed his fingers in and out of her. Her hand stroked him faster and harder, whenever he pushed his fingers further into her mouth.

_Clever girl…_he observed for a brief moment before an unexpected wave of pleasure surged through his body.

"Christ," Booker mumbled incoherently. The things her mouth was doing to him.

Elizabeth was sucking his fingers while her hot tongue slid across his knuckles, licking them. A loud groan made its way past his lips when she playfully bit Booker's hand, leaving him with a fresh set of perfect little teeth marks. When he withdrew his fingers they were pruned from being inside her mouth. Booker's chest quickly moved up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

"Okay, this is what's going to happen," he began, gripping her narrow shoulders. Booker rolled Elizabeth onto her back, and sat up on his knees straddling her. He enfolded her petite hand in both of his large ones, clutching it to his chest.

"I am going to turn around and hold myself above you, and lick and kiss you until you shake," Booker told her lowering one of his hands to stroke her sex.

"And _you_ are going to take me inside your mouth," he removed his hand from the hot space between her legs to push a finger into her mouth, to further emphasize his point.

"And you are going to do to me _exactly _what you've already been doing," Booker said with a low growl, dipping his finger in and out of Elizabeth's mouth.

There it was. An opportunity to reciprocate her passion at last and the only thing Elizabeth could do in that moment was blush.

_I want him, what is wrong with me? _She reflected with frustration at the uncanny ability of her insecurity over her inexperience to show up at the worst possible time.

"Relax, baby doll." Booker soothed her, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose.

"You already know what to do. Whether it's my hand or my cock in your mouth the concept is still the same." He spoke reassuringly, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes.

"Understand?" Booker asked, firmly holding her chin between his long fingers, searching those big blue eyes of hers for some kind of acknowledgment.

Elizabeth gulped. She didn't quite trust herself to answer him, because she didn't want to sound afraid, so she nodded her head yes in response.

Booker brought his face close to hers and kissed Elizabeth for a moment to help her relax. He knew how much she enjoyed herself when they made out. It was a very safe place for her, and once he got her all hot and bothered she would be ready to do anything. When her kisses became wild and her tongue started to tickle the back of his throat, Booker backed off. He leaned over Elizabeth on the palms of his hands, hovering over her. Booker pecked her nose one last time before he spun around and adjusted himself. His erection hovered over Elizabeth's mouth intimidatingly for a moment before he carefully parted her lips with the large swollen tip of his head. As Booker slowly slid himself down into the depths of Elizabeth's soft mouth, she had simultaneously grabbed his base and squeezed it just like he showed her.

_Jesus Fucking Christ, God Fucking Damn It to Hell._

Booker silenced the moan that was trying to make its way out of his mouth by placing his lips against the moist skin of Elizabeth's sex. He slowly pumped his hips, gliding himself in and out of her mouth as he simultaneously leaned his neck forward to lick her. Booker's fingers pinched her hood, making the hypersensitive nub of Elizabeth's anatomy pop out beneath the folds of pink flesh. He ran his tongue across the diminutive organ up and down like a cat lapping a saucer of cream. Just like that, the two of them naturally fell into a rhythm together.

Elizabeth slowly moved her hips up and down as she rubbed herself across the stubble of Booker's face, writhing and squirming until the wet softness of his mouth pressed against the tender opening of her gender. His member pushed against the inside of Elizabeth's cheek. This was definitely _different_, but a good kind of different. Booker's appendage inside her mouth was bit like dealing with a ridiculously oversized tongue. He kissed her sex like he would her mouth when they made out, so she swirled her tongue around the tip of him thoughtfully. Booker was old enough to be her father and what they were doing was completely undignified, but that only made her enjoy it even more. Booker teasingly pressed his tongue over her entrance before moving it in a slow circle around her opening. Elizabeth felt herself growing wetter and wetter with each pass as he kept licking and sucking.

_Oh my God, Booker. I want you inside me._

She thought wildly, taking a deep breath around his hard, swollen member. Her hips and the hand she was using to work his shaft moved faster. Elizabeth wrapped her tongue around him and gulped, flexing the muscles in her throat trying to pull him further into her mouth. Elizabeth stared at Booker's well defined rear end, and the intimacy of watching the steady, continuous ripple of flesh in his backside as he moved excited her even more. The pressure that had been building in between her legs increased sharply.

When Elizabeth started to grind against Booker's face in that desperate way that made him crazy, he slanted his mouth over her vulva so the broad surface of his tongue would rub her from clitoris all the way down to the narrow opening of her sex. Elizabeth was breathing hot and hard around his dick. Her tongue was sucking and stroking his head, and that made Booker plunge his cock further and harder into her mouth.

_This is so fucking wrong…yes…squeeze me hard…just like that. _

Booker voraciously moved his tongue back and forth faster. His face and his dick were both soaking wet; there was nothing that he wanted more than that. To feel her go down on him, while he ate her out was better than that first shot of whiskey after several months of sobriety. Unthinking, Booker moved his fingers across her slippery skin. He rubbed his middle and ring finger around Elizabeth's entrance as he continued to lick her. Her hand squeezed his base and stroked him faster. Booker growled into her hot, wet flesh, succumbing to his desires. He nearly came when he shoved his fingers into the small, tight space of Elizabeth's pussy. Her legs spread further apart and her muscles clenched down around his fingers. Booker greedily lapped his tongue across her clit and pushed his fingers into Elizabeth fast and hard.

Booker's fingers were hurting her a little bit, but by the time he had shoved them into her tender sex Elizabeth could already feel the beginnings of pleasure start to break across her body. Elizabeth grinded herself into Booker's mouth harder, and her hand gradually stopped stroking him as she was swept away by the overwhelming sensations of pleasure spiked with pain. Her orgasm kept building and building until her hips were moving so fast if Elizabeth could have seen herself she would have died of embarrassment. When she finally came, Elizabeth's toes curled, and her whole body convulsed as her climax ripped through her like a tornado leveling a small country town.

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh FUCK._

Booker thought desperately, when his entire body rippled with pleasure as he felt Elizabeth orgasm. Hot, sweet fluid filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin as she screamed around his dick. Her grip around his base unexpectedly tightened and Elizabeth's stifled cries caused the muscles in her mouth to spasm all around him. Booker furiously pumped his hips into her faster, pushing his cock further down her throat. Elizabeth's tongue danced along the tip of his swelling head.

_I wanna come inside you._

"FUCK!" Booker groaned as he came.

_Jesus Fuck that tongue of hers…._

It made him see stars.

Elizabeth was still moaning as her own orgasm slowly waned. Her throat flexed as she worked to swallow his semen. He moaned loudly when she moved her tongue around him.

_Jesus_…

Another orgasm snuck up on him right after the first. Booker's muscular frame trembled above her as he ejaculated into her mouth for the second time. It felt like it would never stop.

Well, that was definitely a first for him.

Only when his dick finally came down to half mast, did he slide it out of Elizabeth's mouth. After Booker carefully disentangled himself from her, he collapsed on the bed right by her side. His entire body was still twitching and shaking, and Booker felt his strength leave him as soon as he hit the sheets. He turned his head over to look at Elizabeth. He saw that she was breathless and beautiful with large rivulets of his semen running down the corners of her mouth. Sensing him looking at her, Elizabeth turned her head to gaze back at him. Her deep blue eyes were heavy lidded and sultry. She tentatively touched the side of her face, examining the slippery opaque liquid on her fingertips.

_Please, please, don't hate me. _Booker thought helplessly as dread clawed his heart to pieces.

With all of his defenses down, Booker's face could be just as expressive as her own. Whatever Elizabeth did feel for him, it certainly wasn't hate. But, she knew better than to label it. The emotions that made her want to fuse their bodies and their lives together were too deep and complex for words. Elizabeth remembered how she felt when she watched him lick the blood right off her thighs. All traces of doubt and shame evaporated away. In that moment she never doubted his desire for her, and now it was her turn to soothe his fears away.

Elizabeth sucked her fingers into her mouth and slowly licked them clean of the salty fluid. She maintained purposeful eye contact with Booker while she did it. Elizabeth smiled when she saw the tightness in his shoulders relax, and when he smiled back at her, not even her innate ability to open tears into the fabric of reality, made her feel so special.

Booker reached out to her, lightly stroking one of Elizabeth's small shoulders with the back of his hand. Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. She should have felt satiated, and yet she did not. There was a small little detail about their coupling so far that bothered her. Booker's body fluids had gone pretty much everywhere, except the place that it was biologically supposed to go. To her, Booker's actions seemed very counterintuitive. Elizabeth assumed that would be the first place a man would want to experience his pleasure. But, Booker was not like other men. When he took her virginity right on the steps, Booker was so ferocious she thought that the inevitable would soon come. She also remembered secretly watching him masturbate, and Elizabeth had thought she knew what he was thinking about as he pleasured himself. Then Booker had surprised her by taking his pleasure at what seemed like the last possible moment, in her rear end. It was a small nuance, but one that nagged at Elizabeth like a splinter inside her mind. It was another defensive wall she had to climb, it was his darkest desire.

She supposed that the more sensible part of herself was grateful to Booker for taking whatever precautions he could to avoid accidentally impregnating her. But, obviously there was more to it than that. Elizabeth could sense that there was an entire emotional, neurotic, complex behind it. He wanted to let go of himself with her completely, but he didn't even realize it. The cold, hard fact that he withheld part of himself from her made caution seem so trivial. The thought of him taking his pleasure inside that part of her body was the only thing Elizabeth couldn't stop thinking about while they used their mouths and hands to play with each other's sensitive parts. It's what made her climax, and thinking about it excited her still. Thoughts of having sex with Booker, and feeling the moment of his pleasure within the center of her body made Elizabeth feel wild and dangerous. They both wanted it to happen. The only difference between their twin desires was that Elizabeth wasn't afraid to acknowledge it or pursue it.

Booker told her that his wife died in child birth, so Elizabeth knew it would prove _very_ difficult to get him to acknowledge what he wanted. She had to communicate the primal and desperate desire that was making her heart race in such a way that he couldn't possibly reject the idea. She felt the rough texture of Booker's palm graze her side before his fingers sunk into her flesh as he firmly gripped her hip bone. An idea occurred to her.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and found Booker watching her as his hand lazily caressed her side, squeezing parts of her flesh here and there. She dipped her hand in the small pool of Booker's body fluids that rested near her cheek. It hadn't dried up yet, so it was still warm when she touched it. Booker had his feral green eyes trained on her every move; his gaze caused Elizabeth's heart to pound ferociously inside her chest while she coated her fingers with Booker's spilled semen as he looked at her. Elizabeth saw his eyes grow big when she lifted her hand and place it against her groin. The tender space between her legs was wet and soft, and feverishly hot when she rubbed the slippery fluid on her swollen lips.

"Elizabeth! What are you doing?" Booker rasped as his mouth dropped into his familiar scowl.

"Whatever I want," she replied softly, moving her hand so she could coat her fingers with more of the substance.

The blood in her body was starting to plump her anatomy again. Elizabeth carefully separated her lips, exposing the entrance of her sex. Her breathing became shallow, and her body trembled. Elizabeth had a glob of Booker's semen on her fingers, and she bit her lower lip while she traced circles around her opening, gasping sharply when she slipped them inside herself.

_What THE Hell?_

Panic and other urges best left buried put Booker's body into action. He found himself sitting up, with his face just hovering above Elizabeth's groin, watching her touch herself.

_I can't be actually seeing this…_Booker thought with complete dismay as he saw another semen coated finger disappear into the tight space of her sex. The message was so clear. _Come inside me, _those small, but slender fingers said. It couldn't get much more obvious than that.

It was the _sexiest_ fucking thing he ever saw.

His hands curled into angry fists as Booker leaned back on his heels to look down at Elizabeth. The aroused, wanton, expression on her face as she fucked herself with her hand covered in his come made his cock big and hard, and it felt like he was being stabbed in the chest repeatedly with a rusty knife. _Take me. Take me now, _those sultry blue eyes of hers told him. She had just ripped open a very, very old wound that cut straight to the quick. Booker wanted to punch the wall until all of the bones in his hand shattered. Elizabeth had left no emotional door in his weary, trouble heart unopened. He glared at her furiously.

_You should have left this one the FUCK alone._

Booker's jaw clenched tight with tension

"I want you," Elizabeth whispered in a low voice as she touched herself.

"God DAMN you, Elizabeth," he cursed at her, completely enraged.

Booker's angry words didn't bother her at all because she knew all of it stemmed from his own guilt and self-hatred. Elizabeth wasn't going to even argue with him. She had learned her lesson. You didn't _ask_ Booker DeWitt for anything or to do anything, you _showed_ him and you_ told_ him what you wanted. Elizabeth rubbed her hand against her sex a little bit faster for his benefit, and softly moaned.

"That ain't fair," Booker growled.

Thoughts of him coming inside her actually got her off. She _wanted_ him to take her brutally.

What. The. Fuck? Not even his own wife, who had the patience of a saint, came back for seconds. That wasn't fair. That shouldn't be possible let alone allowed, Booker reflected lividly.

What the hell was _wrong_ with this girl?

If Booker had taken a moment to calm down, he might have realized just how impressionable Elizabeth was. When he freed her from her imprisonment, Booker failed to realize just how much a life time spent in isolation had stunted her emotional growth in certain areas of her personality. He was molding her and shaping her to be just as hard and relentless as he was. Sex was no exception to his subtle and insidious influence on her personality. Elizabeth was a virgin and Booker was all she ever knew of love.

But, emotions drowned out all logical thought when Booker ripped Elizabeth's hand away from her gender. Elizabeth's fingers smoothly glided out if herself, and the hold Booker had over her tiny wrist walked a line thin between bruising and bone breaking. He yanked on Elizabeth's arm so hard; she thought that it might come right out of its socket. Booker crashed her small body into his as he pulled her up. His blood was up now. Booker wouldn't even take the time to kiss her or tease her, there would be nothing more than him driving his cock into her body as hard as possible.

She should not have done what she did.

Adrenaline was coursing its way through Elizabeth's slender frame as Booker tossed her around as if she was a rag doll. He spun her around and forced her down on all fours.

_NO._ Absolutely not.

She wanted to see his face this time. It was going to be _difficult_. Elizabeth wished she had miles and miles of rope to tie Booker down, but alas she didn't. She was just going to have to fight him for what she wanted…literally, and the _only _advantage she had over him was the element of surprise.

Elizabeth bolted up and threw her head back, colliding the base of her skull directly into Booker's face simultaneously throwing her elbow straight into the center of his stomach as hard as she could. Booker cried out in sudden pain. She supposed the elbow was a really cheap shot, but Elizabeth didn't care. Booker weighed twice the amount she did, and when it came to physical displays of strength the odds were so grossly in his favor Elizabeth felt completely justified in fighting dirty. She twisted her lithe figure around and tried to scramble away from him, but she wasn't fast enough. His large hand closed around her ankle like a steel trap, and he yanked her back towards him.

Elizabeth moved as quickly as she could to twist her body around before Booker had a chance to get his hands on her. She sat up and back handed him right across the face. Booker grunted and grabbed her wrist, when he did that Elizabeth struck him with her other hand. His seized that hand as well in an iron hard grip. Booker's body surged forward, using his weight as momentum to pin Elizabeth down. They were face to face now, and his arms were preoccupied with subduing her upper body so he wouldn't be flipping her over anytime soon.

_Perfect._

Elizabeth mused with smug satisfaction, wiggling her lower body around until she felt her sex make contact with his groin. She arranged her legs around Booker's waist, and tried to press herself into his arousal as much as possible. Whatever she did, it must have worked, because in the next moment she couldn't breathe. Elizabeth's vision swam with dark spots as the back of her head slammed into the headboard.

When the soft wetness of her lips rubbed the tip of his head Booker acted on complete instinct. He had forcefully jack knifed his narrow hips into Elizabeth, penetrating her with one fast, brutal stroke that smashed her into the headboard with a loud rattle. He knocked all of the wind right out of her, and Elizabeth gasped like she had been sucker punched.

Shit. They were face to face.

Booker hadn't planned on that, but Elizabeth wrapped her legs around him and squirmed beneath him in ways that felt too amazing to stop. The soft, wet, tightness of her body enfolded him, and his cock swelled all the way from the tip of his head right down to his base. He had to fuck her and not stop, he just_ had_ to.

_Fuuuuuck, she feels so damn good…_

Booker groaned when the walls of her sex clenched tightly around his dick. Stopping to change positions now seemed God damn ridiculous. He let go of Elizabeth's wrists in favor of grabbing onto the headboard. Booker pinned her body beneath him as he glided his cock in and out of her with big, long strokes. He rammed the head of his aching member into the sensitive wall of her cervix as hard as he could. Elizabeth was so breathless, she couldn't scream, pain rippled across her skin as he fucked her. Booker knew he was hurting her, and part of him wished he could make the experience better for her, but he had no idea how. Not when she was dripping wet and squeezing him tighter than a vice. White-knuckled, Booker clenched the headboard in an angry grip for even more leverage. He was starting to sweat a little, and he felt Elizabeth's nails rake across his shoulders.

Booker groaned when Elizabeth's legs spread further apart. He had even more room to thrust now.

"Oh….God…" he panted.

His body was starting to tingle all over. She was squeezing him too tight; Booker was thinking that he might actually have to pull out soon when Elizabeth reached up towards him to cup his face. He bent his neck down to kiss her and their tongues immediately twisted and writhed together. The sweet movements of Elizabeth's mouth made his thrusts a little less frantic as he partially concentrated on skillfully kissing her back. In between Booker pushing his tongue into her mouth wildly, Elizabeth caught a small breath.

"Touch me," she whispered the word across his lips and into his mouth.

Booker let go of the headboard and his hands descended right on top of her firm breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples lightly before he pinched them hard, making Elizabeth yelp. She reached out to kiss him and when their mouths smashed back together she bit down on his lower lip. He could taste salt and the copper tang of blood.

"Fuck yes." He hissed. The sudden stab of pain sent chills up and down his spine.

Elizabeth could feel Booker's erection starting to swell even bigger the more worked up he got. His arousal was growing inside her, and that caused her to moan with frustration, because of the unbearable pressure of excitement pulsing between her legs, and she was in _agony. _Elizabeth was soaking wet and receptive, but that did nothing to ease her pain. It only made it easier for Booker to slam his large appendage into the tender part of her anatomy without mercy. His hands gripped the sensitive mounds of her breasts cruelly, his mouth was bruising her lips with need, and every thrust he made into her body burned and felt like she was being cleaved right in half.

_Why did this part of sex have to hurt so bad when everything else had felt amazing? _Elizabeth wondered, gritting her teeth.

The fire in Booker's eyes was primal as he continued to push into her. His kisses soon stopped all together. Booker's breathing was heavy and labored; his muscular body was becoming slippery with sweat as it strained. Booker rested his forehead against Elizabeth's, as his pace increased. Elizabeth's physical discomfort was kicked up another notched, and she impulsively grabbed his firm rear end with both hands, trying to keep herself from screaming.

_Oh, my God. No one should be this strong. It's just not right. _Elizabeth observed with a certain amount of shock, digging her fingernails into Booker's skin. She squeezed the warm, fuzzy flesh of his backside finally realizing just how strong he was. Beneath her hands Elizabeth could feel the power of his body moving into her. It was amazing and it was horrible. When he hit her cervix again a whimper escaped her mouth before she could stop it. His forehead pressed against hers, and his ragged breath was a warm strike of heat across her face. Elizabeth watched the raw, naked emotions flash through Booker's eyes like strikes of lighting cutting through a turbulent storm. How she reacted to every arc of pain he sent through her small body told Elizabeth so much.

She saw unbridled lust in his eyes and overwhelming bitterness. Her body gave him so much pleasure and he _hated_ himself for it. The closer Booker came to the cusp of his climax so did his despair. Booker may have been the most physically dominating of the two of them, but he was an emotional cripple. He was the one that was truly vulnerable, not her. She needed to get Booker to stop, or slow down, _something_, before she lost him to his own guilt and he hated himself forever. Even though Elizabeth was pinned and surrounded by a hard, unyielding wall of muscle she needed to take control. So, once again she had to be aggressive and unpredictable in order to get Booker's attention.

Her hands were free, and that was a blessing. Elizabeth released her grip on the firm cheeks of his behind, and wove one of her hands through Booker's hair. She closed her hand around a fistful of the soft brown locks peppered with bits of gray. Elizabeth's hold tightened and she yanked Booker's head back, and slapped him hard across the face with the other hand. His green eyes widened with surprise, and without a seconds hesitation Elizabeth slapped him across the other side of his face. He immediately stopped what he was doing. Booker's eyes grew dark, but he didn't utter a single word of protest. She had actually quieted him for a moment, and all the tension drained out of her.

Booker remained sheathed inside of her, but Elizabeth could finally let her body relax. Neither of them moved, and with him perfectly still she could finally feel and appreciate all the nuances of him. His presence inside her still created an intense feeling of pressure, but it was actually more of an enjoyable and titillating sensation. She felt her muscles automatically twitch around him and he swelled bigger in response. Booker's pubic bone was creating a very stimulating and delicious amount of pressure on her clitoris.

_This is supposed to feel good._ Elizabeth surmised thoughtfully. Perhaps it was just her instincts that knew it all along, and that was why she still felt the drive to experience this part of sex with Booker even though he made it hurt. She put her hands on Booker's hips and began to writhe beneath him slowly.

_Yes…this is definitely supposed to feel good._ Elizabeth confirmed in her mind as she grinded into him and felt the familiar, aching buildup of sexual arousal.

When Elizabeth hit him she got his blood up past boiling. But, for the first time, Booker DeWitt was experiencing the quiet, subtle pleasure of just having his body connected to someone. When she squeezed his cock tight and he felt her sensitive nub rub against him, he tried to fight the urge to move. Booker's breath hissed passed his teeth when he felt his hips pitch forward against his will. If he couldn't be gentle he could at least try to slow down for her. He pulled out and pushed back inside her again.

"Booker!" She moaned his name when his head crashed into her cervix.

Elizabeth was getting so wet and squeezing him so tight, he wanted to go fast. Another stinging slap across his face made him stop. Her hips on the other hand, never stopped moving. Her face and chest were flushed red, as she grinded into him. Elizabeth's hands had migrated around his hips to squeeze his ass, and Booker impulsively grabbed onto the headboard in an effort to keep himself still. She teasingly slipped herself up and down his shaft. When her sex slid up the length of his cock she stopped at his head before pushing herself back down. The pace was much shallower than what Booker was used to and it drove him crazy.

Booker's body shook with tension as he fought with himself, not daring to move. He watched Elizabeth pushed herself onto his dick with growing fascination. Her chest moved up and down as her breathing came faster, her large nipples became erect as she moved, and she was grinding herself into him with a desperate determination that made him hot. Elizabeth was going to fuck him until she got herself off, and that realization made Booker salivate. Unless he lost control of himself and interfered with her rhythm again. No, that would not happen. Booker wouldn't let it, because he wanted to hear her scream, and feel her orgasm around his cock more than he wanted to get himself off. It would be so much more gratifying to fuck her hard and fast if she actually came. In all of his sexual encounters, and there were many, something like that had never happened to him before, but there was a chance…

Booker lowered his head bestowing Elizabeth with a scorching and hungry kiss.

"I wanna feel you come. Are you gonna come for me, huh? Scream in my ear, baby?" he growled into her ear.

Elizabeth's sharp, sweet moans and her sex milking the base of his cock was the best reply Booker could ever hope for. Her fingernails were clawing his ass now, and she rocked her hips into him a little faster. He kissed her slow and deep, pushing his tongue around her mouth just how she liked it. Elizabeth's legs tightened around Booker's waist and she squirmed underneath him, shifting around and changing the angle that he penetrated her.

"There you go…" Booker panted, his hips jutting forward a little to meet hers in spite of his best efforts to remain still. But, Elizabeth didn't seem to mind.

"Grind it out, hard and fast. Yeah…you're going to come. I can feel it." He breathed, licking her across the face, flicking his tongue inside Elizabeth's ear.

Her petite body shuddered and convulsed, and to Booker's delight Elizabeth increased her pace even more. She was working him with long, big strokes now; the dark space of her sex was sucking his head further into body.

"Does fucking my cock get you off, baby doll?" Booker asked. His hot breath bathed the skin of Elizabeth's vulnerable neck.

"No. You coming inside me hard and fast does," she said, whispering Booker's own vulgar words right back at him with a seductive groan.

Booker did not expect Elizabeth to say anything back, and he certainly wasn't prepared for her suggestive, hair-raising reply either. It ripped him to shreds because he wanted her so damn much.

"Elizabeth…please…" He pleaded with her.

"I need to feel you…"Elizabeth panted, adjusting her pace just a little to better match up the movement of her hips with his, taking him deeper into herself.

"Stop it!" He interrupted her sharply, jack knifing his hips into Elizabeth's pelvis.

She cried out when he lost control of himself again. Booker bit his lower lip, grunting as he shoved himself into her hard enough to make the headboard rattle. Elizabeth didn't slap him though, he was penetrating her hard and fast again, but she didn't stop him. In fact Elizabeth was still grinding her sex into his groin with almost the same amount of ferocity he had while he fucked her. Why wasn't she hitting him? What had changed? Booker briefly glanced down. He saw that the death grip she had on his ass pressed his pelvis on top of hers, maintaining pressure on her clit.

_Ah._

Booker could nail her as fast and hard as he wanted as long as his body was positioned in just the right way to keep stimulating her. So, what was previously causing her pain was still extremely intense, but fucking her was actually _pleasuring_ her more than hurting her. Elizabeth was getting close and Booker could feel her orgasm building. Their slippery bodies glided together frantically, and the molten, dripping wet flesh of her sex molded itself even more to the shape of him, because she was getting so worked up. He needed to make her come, _now._

Booker let go of the headboard, and ran his hands down Elizabeth's flushed body until he reached her tiny waist. He slid both of his hands beneath her around the small of her back before moving them down to her behind. Another surge of blood went straight to his groin, and he groaned loudly when his hands cradled the smooth, plump flesh of Elizabeth's ass. Booker lifted her pelvis up so she could grind her clit into him easier.

"Oh, God…" she whimpered.

The sensations that were starting to ripple through Elizabeth's body were exquisite. Rubbing the tiny and extremely fickle organ that hid within the folds of her sex into the jut of Booker's pubic bone made her soaking wet. It felt so good. Feeling him thrust and fill her body over and over again was overwhelming, making her flesh burning hot. Her muscles were flexing and clamping around him tight. Elizabeth watched Booker's brow come together in a frustrated knit as he panted heavily. He wanted to make her go without letting go of himself.

_We'll see about that. What you deny, I embrace._

All is fair in love and war.

"Come inside me, Booker" she growled softly in his ear.

"Fuuuuuck…stop saying that…_please." _Booker moaned in reply, pumping his hips harder until the headboard shook, bottoming out inside her with more frequency. The baby soft flesh of her ass quivered beneath his hands as Elizabeth's body strained with a desperate effort to achieve release. The muscles that surrounded her opening pulled at his base all the way up his shaft.

_Oh yeah…don't stop fucking me. Keep working me hard…_ Booker ground his teeth together.

_I see how it is Booker DeWitt. Your mouth says one thing, while your body does another._ Elizabeth mused darkly. Stop now when she finally had his heart inside her jaws? No way.

"Come inside me," she whispered again, moaning and breathing heavily in his ear. Elizabeth remembered that Booker said he liked the noises she made. She moved her face into the crook of his neck to provoke him even further with the sounds that came spilling out of her mouth.

"Jesus…" Booker cursed, before a moan interrupted him when her seductive flesh squeezed him when he didn't expect it. "Fuck…Why are you doing this to me?"

He looked so bewildered and his voice trembled whenever he tried to talk, Elizabeth thought it was the sweetest she had ever seen Booker look. She wasn't just making him uncomfortable, she was actually hurting him. His pleasure was well on its way but, his beautiful green eyes looked so haunted. Their bodies moved into each other ferociously, and an outside observer could describe their coupling as extremely rough, animalistic fucking, but she knew better. Real intimacy had snuck into the sensual gluttony of their sexual exploration of each other. Elizabeth had this wild, complicated, _conflicted_ man's heart in the palm of her hand. What did she do with it now that she had it?

"Sweet heart," Elizabeth almost purred. Her voice was low and intimate, almost smoky, like it nearly belonged to a different person in another life time.

Chills ran all the way down Booker's spine, and his heart seized inside his chest. It was filled with fear, and something far worse…hope.

"I'm not doing anything to you…I'm just giving you what you want." She finished, pressing the side of her face into his neck, rubbing a smooth cheek against the rough stubble of Booker's five-o-clock shadow. The first part was a flat out lie, but it was necessary. Elizabeth needed to say it to soften the blow of the truth. It was sort of like the emotional version of his spanking fit before he abruptly penetrated her anus the first time they had sex. The look on his face…Elizabeth slid up and down the length of his shaft, shuddering from the spike of pleasure that began to unwind the pressure that had been building in between her legs.

She had taken his vulnerable heart and crushed it in her fist.

Hearts bleed just as readily as vaginas. Elizabeth had broken through Booker's emotional sternum, carved out his heart and plucked it straight from his ribcage still beating. Now, all that remained was the devouring.

_Don't worry…it's mine now. I'll swallow it…I'll keep it safe. _Elizabeth swooned with contentment floating on a cloud of physical and emotional ecstasy. Her grip on Booker's behind tightened, the harder, and quicker he pushed his member into the sensitive wall of her cervix, the faster she rubbed her clitoris against him.

"Oh…my….GOD…._Elizabeth_…"

"I know…just let go," she murmured. Elizabeth dug her fingernails into his skin. The power of his hips was rolling into her body, and it felt amazing…then he was gone. Booker moved off of her so quick, she blinked twice. There was nothing in her arms but thin air. They had gotten _so _close together, and of course Booker had to stop right when her excitement was pushing its fever pitch high.

"God damn it," Elizabeth mumbled to herself panting, curling her hands into tiny, frustrated fists. She scooted back on her behind. In spite of how badly she was shaking, Elizabeth managed to pull herself upright on the bed. When Elizabeth looked over her shoulder her eyes grew big.

"Oh, God…" she exclaimed softly.

A river of bright red blood was running down from Booker's nose straight over his lips and dripping off his chin into his hands. Elizabeth hadn't noticed it when they were making love, because her face was pressed into the side of Booker's neck. Truth be told, he hadn't noticed it either, until an acute stabbing pain in his temples made his vision blurry. Now, his head was pounding like it had been split in half by an axe as a buried memory tried to break free from his subconscious. Booker's eyes closed tight. He wasn't sure if he wanted to remember.

_He was pacing back and forth in his small, dingy apartment like a wild animal put on display at some zoo. The smell of rain was thick and heavy on the air, and he was staring at the cracking paint on the door of the spare bed room off to his right. _

_It was October 8, 1883._

_Booker crushed the butt of a cigarette in a nearby ashtray and his fingers wrapped around the cold door knob with a growing sense of despair._

_It was October 8, 1883._

_He couldn't turn the knob all the way without his hands shaking. He needed a drink. Booker let go, and slowly backed away from the door. He had to be quiet, but he couldn't remember why. Booker went behind his desk and carefully opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a half bottle of whiskey. There was a tattered piece of paper stuck to the bottom of the bottle. It floated down to the dusty wooden floor like a white ghost._

_It was October 8, 1883._

_Booker stared at the familiar handwriting, and grief clawed at the back of his throat. Tears sprang to his eyes. _

_Oh, no. Please… dear God, no. _

_Not this…anything but this._

_It was October 8, 1883._

Booker slammed the door shut on the repressed memory, but the date still screamed inside his head. It nearly gave him a panic attack it disturbed him so much. No memory was ever harmless. He felt Elizabeth's dainty hands cupping his face while she wiped the blood away with the washcloth he had brought up from the Luteces bathroom. It was soothing and it helped bring him back to the present. His eyes fluttered back open and he was relieved to see Elizabeth's sweet face hovering next to him like an angel of mercy.

"Are you okay?" she asked, tenderly dabbing the blood off his face.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Booker replied gruffly. His voice sounded like he had swallowed a handful of gravel. But, at least he could actually fucking see again.

Elizabeth frowned at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What am I going to do with you? I fix you, but you never _stay_ fixed, damn it" Elizabeth sighed.

Booker chuckled at her comment. He thought Elizabeth was really cute whenever she cursed.

"Elizabeth, there ain't enough pieces of me _left_ to put back together," he confessed with a sad smile.

_Oh, Booker. _Elizabeth thought as a stab of pain speared her heart. She tossed the cloth aside, crawled into his lap and hugged him tight. Elizabeth showered Booker with kisses all over his face and neck, until he squirmed.

"I'll keep you together," she told him with confidence, affectionately pressing their noses together causing Booker's expression to become more amused and less dark.

He ran a hand through the soft downy texture of Elizabeth's hair, pulling her face away from him so he could look at her better. The sweet look on her face, and the compassion Booker saw in her eyes made his throat tight. He didn't know what to say. A lock of hair fell into Booker's eyes, and to Elizabeth he looked almost a little shy.

"Much obliged," he finally replied with his long dark eyelashes fluttering downward.

Elizabeth kissed him right on the mouth. She pressed her lips into him stubbornly, until Booker relented and opened his mouth for her tongue. Elizabeth wanted to pick up where they left off, but did he? Booker's kisses were earnest, but they seemed a touch ambivalent to her. She needed to get him excited again. Elizabeth moved her mouth down below his lips and playfully nipped his chin. His memory still distracted him, so Booker felt safe enough to indulge her. At the moment, sex was actually pretty far from his mind.

Elizabeth trailed a hot, wet line of kisses around Booker's neck. His stubble was rough, like sandpaper underneath her tongue.

_What the hell is going on? _Booker wondered. What was it about that particular memory that filled him with so much guilt? He didn't want to remember, and yet there was something about it that nagged at him.

Elizabeth frowned at the far off look in Booker's green eyes. He was thinking really hard about something, but that something wasn't her. She wiggled down in his lap, and tentatively pecked his chest and stomach.

Why was he remembering this now? What the hell was so important about the date October 8, 1883?

No reaction from him at all. Booker didn't even twitch a muscle.

_Lower and lower I shall go. _Elizabeth mused moving further down Booker's body, stopping once she reached his groin. Even soft he was still pretty impressive, she thought with a smile. Elizabeth wrapped her hand around his base, lowering her head to take him into her mouth.

_The note…_that was it, that was the detail that refused to leave him alone. Booker tried to visualize his desk and all the random crap that it contained. That was when he felt Elizabeth squeeze his cock.

"Oh, shit." Booker cursed when her tongue swirled in a circle around his head.

_Hi there. We were having sex, remember? _Elizabeth giggled as she went down on him.

_I am an idiot._ Booker finally realized. He showed Elizabeth how the game of sex was played, and she turned out to be a dangerous and even shrewder player than he anticipated. She knew all of his tells, and she was working him for all she was worth. Her hand moved up and down his shaft at a consistent pace. Not too frantic, but just fast enough to make him hard. Booker gasped when Elizabeth sucked him into her mouth. Her short brown hair tickled his stomach and watching her head slowly bob up and down his dick made all the blood in his body rush south.

_Oh God…_

Booker's body now seemed to remember that he was only moments away from getting off before nose bleeds and muddled memories blue balled him. Elizabeth slid her tongue up and down his cock, stretching him out inside her wet mouth. His erection sprang back to life long, hard, and _hurting. _He pushed his hips upwards and his head bumped the roof of her mouth. Booker grunted, reaching out to grab a hold of Elizabeth's hair.

_Time to move, _she thought.

Before he had the chance to put his hands on her, Elizabeth sat back on her heels moving out of reach. She dodged Booker's hand and crawled on top of him instead, putting one leg on each side of his hips. Elizabeth straddled his lap and kissed him, pressing and rubbing her groin across his arousal. He moaned into her mouth and that made Elizabeth wet. She lifted her hips up for a moment, and as if sensing what she was about to do Booker put his hand between her legs and spread the lips of her sex apart with his fingers. Elizabeth took his erection in her hand and guided him to her opening.

Booker watched the head of his cock slide past her lips, slowly disappearing inside the molten flesh of her sex. His throbbing member was swallowed inch by inch as Elizabeth lowered herself onto him until he was completely buried inside her.

"Fuck…you feel good," he gasped.

"How good?" she asked, as her body molded itself around him.

Elizabeth gently rocked her hips against him, slowly testing and exploring the new position that they were in. The angle that he penetrated her was far more intense than Booker had anticipated. _Jesus Christ_…she was already squeezing him.

"You're fucking hotter than the side effects of Devil's Kiss, baby doll, and you keep squeezing me." Booker groaned as he grinded himself up against Elizabeth's petite pelvis.

She gripped Booker's broad, scarred shoulders in her hands and moved her hips faster, then slower, then faster again, experimenting with different paces until she found one she liked. Elizabeth squirmed to press her body closer to his. Her nipples rubbed against the linen bandage around Booker's chest, stiffening them. She nipped his lower lip with her teeth, which had several of her bite marks already. Booker's bandaged hand slipped around the small of Elizabeth back, and he wove his other hand into her soft, sweat dampened hair. He yanked her head back at an awkward angle, before smothering her with a wet, fierce kiss. Booker pushed his tongue back and forth into Elizabeth's mouth.

_God damn it. _Their position was already driving him completely crazy. Booker was pushing and thrusting himself into her as fast and as hard as he wanted, but there was only so much he could do. Elizabeth set the pace, and when she went slow, his hips had to follow suite. Control was hers. It was frustrating as hell, and it made Booker want to smash the bed to bits.

He _loved_ it.

Watching Elizabeth settle into a rhythm as her small frame quivered and shuddered in his arms as she rode his cock made him hot. Her clit was starting to rub into him now, and that motivated her to fuck him faster. Booker fantasized about the special way Elizabeth had laughed when he'd spanked her before. She dug her nails into his shoulders and then raked them across his back. Elizabeth was gasping and moaning now, Booker saw no reason why she shouldn't be giggling as well.

The sharp crack of flesh striking flesh punctuated the air.

Booker's hand smashed into her buttocks with a hard slap, and her giggle was like music to his ears. He hit Elizabeth again, even harder. Her head fell forward into his neck, and the Booker could feel Elizabeth laughing against the Adam's apple of his throat.

That was _very_ sexy.

He played with her ass like that for a while, as Elizabeth bounced up and down. The desire to touch her everywhere made Booker move his hands from around her back side, and his fingers slid across the moist, vulnerable skin of Elizabeth's stomach. He watched and _felt _the muscles in her abdomen flex as she worked him. Booker could actually feel the shape of his erection moving inside her when placed his hand there.

_Jesus…that belly…_

It made him want to come inside her hard and deep. Elizabeth clenched her muscles around his base and Booker moaned. She was getting so wet, he could feel fluid dripping down the whole length of his cock all the way to tickle his balls. Elizabeth's was breathing in sharp, ragged gasps and her nipples were hard enough that he could feel the erect buds of them stabbing his chest even through his bandage. Booker felt the beginnings of something huge coiling inside him ready to spring.

_This is not fair_, Booker thought helplessly, gritting his teeth. He licked the fingertips of his one hand, reaching out to pinch one of Elizabeth's nipples. Booker eagerly placed his lips around her other breast, sucking in a hot mouthful of the silky flesh. He gulped, taking in more of the firm tissue, licking her nipple and moving his tongue around the areola in lazy circles.

"Booker!" Elizabeth moaned his name loudly, and squeezed him tight.

She was _SO_ close, Booker couldn't stand it. He put both of his hands on her perfect ass and gripped the smooth flesh fiercely. Booker stroked his lips across her beast sensuously, sucking on her nipple inside of his mouth. Booker grinded his hips faster, thrusting deeper, as Elizabeth increased their pace.

"Do you want to come inside me?" she whispered hotly into his ear.

The question gave Booker goose bumps. God forgive him, he did.

"You know I do," he replied softly, wrapping his lips around Elizabeth's nipple again, suckling.

"Then _say_ it," Elizabeth demanded. She stroked him faster and harder with the muscles of her sex and rubbed her clitoris into him desperately.

_God damn you, woman-child. _Booker squeezed her ass bruising hard, straining to shove his cock into her faster.

"Say _it," _she hissed.

Growling, Booker seized Elizabeth's vulnerable throat with his left hand. He pulled her face towards him and looked her in the eye.

"I wanna come inside you."

The look in Booker's eyes showed desire peppered with violence, and Elizabeth held on to his powerful frame as she continued to ride him. His member was growing, and whenever the tip of him bottom out inside her, it became a delicious compliment to the stimulation she gained from grinding her sensitive nub into his pubic bone. Elizabeth leaned back in ecstasy. Her eyelids felt so heavy.

"_Elizabeth…" _Booker rasped.

"Stay inside me, Booker," Elizabeth moaned, moving her hips faster. His erection swelled bigger in response.

She could feel his whole body shaking beneath her, all that power and all that strength was hers. This is what she wanted from him; nothing more than wild, thoughtless passion. Her breath hitched in her throat. She would fuse their very flesh together.

_Yes…_ Elizabeth gasped loudly.

Booker's hand around her neck tightened and Elizabeth tipped her head back. Her mouth hung partially open, her nipples tightened, her back arched, and her toes curled as she ground him down relentlessly. The buildup of tension between her thighs compelled Elizabeth to move her hips as fast as possible. Her orgasm came suddenly and it crashed over her tiny frame in waves. Elizabeth screamed, and her entire body shook violently. Her fingernails tore into Booker's back as she still grinded into him ferociously. Just when she thought it was over another overwhelming current of pleasure would surge through her.

_OH MY GOD..._Booker already sort of sensed that he was in trouble, but he had no fucking idea how much trouble until she was already coming. His dick was drowning in scalding hot fluid that broke over his head and rushed down his shaft. The muscles of her sex seized around him repeatedly as Elizabeth climaxed. She was screaming and he started to come.

_FUCK…_Booker panted, sliding his hands underneath Elizabeth's ass. He was lost. Elizabeth could come with his cock still inside her…and that made the cynic in him dead silent. He would do _anything_ she wanted to feel the gush of her orgasm around him. _Anything. _

"Want me to come inside you?" he asked gruffly, even though he knew what the answer would be, lapping up the beads of sweat off Elizabeth's neck.

"Fast and hard, sweet heart," Elizabeth purred, nuzzling his cheek.

He was her slave and God damn it…he was going to fuck her so hard, what he did to her on the steps would seem gentle in comparison.

"Will that work for you?" She asked him teasingly, with dreamy smile.

Booker glowered at her for a moment, lifting one of Elizabeth's legs straight up in the air.

"That'll do," he replied with a low growl.

He tucked the leg back behind her arm, hooking it around the back of her knee. Booker sucked in a ragged gasp of air, when he lifted her other leg. With Elizabeth's legs in the air, even without moving he could all ready feel the difference in their position. Booker wetted his lips, he had more leverage now _and _he still got to watch her ride him.

The muscles in his arms bunched together when he easily lifted up Elizabeth's pelvis, sliding her off his cock almost all the way before pushing her back down. She was so wet Elizabeth easily glided back down his shaft, and his head hit the wall of her cervix immediately. Elizabeth cried out sharply, but she still squeezed him tight.

_Oh yeah…._they would have to do this again when he was less likely come. Booker thought greedily, lifting Elizabeth up and then pushing her down a little harder. The maddening and exquisite buildup of excitement quickly possessed him like a demon slipping inside his skin for a joyride. Soon, Booker was slamming her down on his cock as hard as he could. Elizabeth's stuttered and sudden cries changed into one long, keening scream the faster he fucked her. Booker pushed his hips up, thrusting himself inside her wildly. The wet, slapping sound his dick made as he drove it into Elizabeth's tender flesh repeatedly turned him on.

_Oh, God…I'm going to come_… Booker squeezed her ass and groaned.

_Oh, God…it hurts._ Elizabeth thought with dismay. Her clitoris wasn't being stimulated in her current position, so it felt like she was back on the steps again. She had stopped screaming, and just whimpered. Elizabeth placed a hand against her groin, where their bodies were joined, feeling Booker thrust, calming herself down. His eyes lit up and he sat her down on him, momentarily stopping.

"Can you go like this? Can you come again?" he asked with such eager enthusiasm, Elizabeth was startled. At first she didn't know what Booker was talking about, but then she realized that what he meant.

"I, I, don't know…" Elizabeth stammered, tentatively rubbing her hood with a finger. She was soaking wet still, so she didn't have any trouble getting the diminutive, but hypersensitive organ to pop out of her flesh.

"Maybe…if you slow down," she replied.

"Okay," Booker nodded. His sweat moistened chest heaved as he took in a huge draught of air.

Going slow would be very difficult for him, since he was so close, but Booker was willing to try. Even if Elizabeth couldn't orgasm just watching her play with herself with her legs in the air would still make him come super hard. So, Booker forced himself to count to five from the time he lifted her body in the air to the time he slammed her back down his cock.

_One…_

She glided up the long, hard, length of him, slowly rubbing her clitoris with her fingers in a circle. Booker was practically salivating as he watched her.

_God that's hot…two…_

Elizabeth slowly slid back down his shaft, squeezing him all the way. She moaned sweetly and her hand moved faster when his head rammed her cervix.

_Three…_

Lift her back up again.

_Four…_

Pause for a second.

_Five…_

Back down his cock.

After the tenth round of counting his body was screaming at him like a two-year old child throwing a temper tantrum. Beads of sweat formed on Booker's forehead and trickled down his neck. Elizabeth's brows furrowed together, and she bit her lip, rocking herself as far forward as she could go in the position she was in. She was dripping all the way down his dick again, and Elizabeth rubbed her hand around the both of them getting it wet. She placed her slick fingers against her hood stroking herself up and down.

"Booker…" she breathed his name heavily.

"There you go, baby," Booker grunted, slamming her down on top of him.

"Harder…"Elizabeth barely whispered, grinding her hand into her clitoris. He was starting to feel really good inside her now. She would climax soon and she wanted him to take her harder, faster, and deeper when it happened.

Booker immediately slid back into his rough, frantic pace, pushing her sex down on his cock as hard as he would throw a punch. Elizabeth moaned loudly, and he jacked knife his hips up into her fast.

"Harder…"she said again, egging him on.

"Squeeze my cock and make me come" Booker hissed back.

_Yes. _This is what she wanted. His heart was gushing blood and victory tasted so sweet in her mouth. Her wild lion…Elizabeth felt painful burning, tearing sensations inside her body, but pleasure overrode it, and she screamed.

_FUCK YES._

Booker watched the flesh of her small, perfect breasts jiggle up and down rapidly when he lifted her ass up quickly then slammed her sex back down on him hard. She was hot, wet, and tight. She was perfect, and her pussy sucked and milked his cock from base to tip as she came. Booker slammed the tip of his sensitive head into her cervix as he watched her climax with animalistic pride, and his own orgasm finally came surging through his body. It felt like a levee breaking under the force of a flood, and the strength of his orgasm made him cry out loudly.

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes _were Booker's wild and unbidden thoughts as he ejaculated, still buried inside Elizabeth's sex as deep as his cock would possibly go. He felt his semen rush from his base straight through his shaft to explode out of his swollen head inside her.

_Ah, fuck._

Booker remembered why he was such a masochist about his pleasure. A long delayed tease made his orgasm stronger, and this one was fucking ridiculous…. he was still going. Elizabeth's muscles clenched him tight, making Booker grunt. She was milking all of his come right out of him.

_Did that just really happen_? Booker wondered. He would have never thought in a millions years sex could be like that.

Both of their bodies were shaking, and he quickly untangled Elizabeth's legs, setting them down. Her white thighs quivered. She was breathing as hard and fast as he was. Booker could feel the effects of gravity start to take over, and trickles of blood and semen were running down his cock.

"I can't hold myself up anymore," Elizabeth said shaking. She slid off his dick and collapsed onto her back.

When Booker looked down he saw that his groin was coated in blood.

God damn it. He made her bleed _again_.

"Shit," he mumbled.

She wanted him touching her. Elizabeth reached out to Booker, and snatched his arm. When she got it, Elizabeth wrapped her legs around it, hugging it affectionately. His arm was long so it covered most of her torso and she nuzzled his hand, kissing it.

Booker looked down at Elizabeth and couldn't stop himself from smiling. She was sprawled on her back and she hugged his arm possessively like a kitten with a ball of string. Elizabeth moved his hand over her breasts and all the way down to her lower stomach. She held his hand there in the spot where their bodies had connected only moments ago.

_She's a kitten alright; a kitten with needle sharp claws._ Booker thought, half amused, half annoyed, and totally dismayed. Elizabeth wasn't just under his skin anymore. She was in his blood now.

"Mmmm…I'm tired," Elizabeth commented with a little smile, pressing his hand into her stomach; the part of her body that inspired nothing but trouble.

"Come here and get on top of me," she demanded.

"Elizabeth…you're bleeding…"Booker began.

"So?" Elizabeth retorted.

Booker frowned, putting his free hand over his face incredulously, before running it through his rumpled hair.

"You really don't care do you?" He said shaking his head.

"No. Should I?" Elizabeth replied, rubbing her stomach with his hand.

"I suppose not," he conceded reluctantly, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm tired. Now come here and get on top of me," she persisted.

"Why? You want me to fill you up again?" Booker stated sarcastically.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. So get over here and come inside me," Elizabeth instructed him softly.

Booker could feel all the blood in his body rushing south again, making him hard and ready.

Damn it.

He was her slave.

Booker circled his thumb around Elizabeth's navel. Her skin was so soft. She gave him his arm back and he moved forward. Booker crawled over to her on hands and knees. Elizabeth had her legs splayed open, and in spite of himself, Booker already had in mind a new position he wanted to try with her.

He grabbed both of her slender ankles in his hands and yanked her body towards him.

"Woman…" Booker growled.

"You are the _devil."_

* * *

**AN: Aww...the babies are happy. :) Too bad it all has to end. :/  
**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!**

**I appreciate all of you who follow and read this!**

**smeehan98 9/16/13 . chapter 7**

Right so pretty good scene here. I don't claim to be an expert but i've certainly seen worse fics.  
Only problems are Booker and Liz seem a bit out of character. Liz seems waayy to manipulative and domineering, even if she is starting to mature by this point, And Booker seems a bit too cliché and suave. I mean, every time he said 'baby doll' i just got reminded of Benny from Fallout NV, and that's really not a picture i want in my head, or one that fits his in-game character at all. Likewise, i can't imagine Liz ever referring to Booker as 'sweetheart', but hey, it's your fic.  
Hope life troubles get sorted out soon! This is good, just my personal views ruin it slightly for me.

*****"Liz seems waayy to manipulative and domineering, even if she is starting to mature by this point."

**Elizabeth being domineering is purposeful foreshadowing, this is fuel for the fire of the next couple of chapters, trust me it will all make sense why I wrote her that way. Also for me, Elizabeth=emotional strength, Booker=physical strength. The last chapter emphasized Booker's strength and how he is physically dominant, this chapter was more about Elizabeth's emotional dominance over Booker to parallel that. Also, she has stabbed a woman to death, and aids Booker in slaughtering people as they flee Columbia, becomes a dark queen (old Elizabeth), and goes from cringing at violence (beginning of the game) to out right threatening Booker with a tornado when she wants to go after Comstock. Elizabeth is a lion cub growing into her claws, not a lamb, in my opinion.**

*****"Booker seems a bit too cliché and suave. I mean, every time he said 'baby doll' i just got reminded of Benny from Fallout NV"

**I must be the worst gamer ever, but I've never played Fallout NV. :( And to be fair Booker has called her that, or thought of her with that pet name in previous chapters, so it isn't completely new. Also, Booker is -trying- to be more gentlemanly with Elizabeth because he feels guilty.**

*"i can't imagine Liz ever referring to Booker as 'sweetheart'"

**I use the heart metaphor a lot, and tried to emphasize that is what Elizabeth wants. "His heart was gushing blood and victory tasted so sweet in her mouth. Her wild lion…"**

**That is why the 'sweetheart' crept in there. Elizabeth just made Booker confront one of his biggest sexual complexes, that is a pretty messy but wonderful victory in my eyes.**

**'"Sweet heart," Elizabeth almost purred. Her voice was low and intimate, almost smoky, like it nearly belonged to a different person in another life time." Again more foreshadowing, alluding a little bit to Burial At Sea. It will make sense later.  
**

**I hope this gives you more perspective on the chapter & thank you for reviewing!**


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